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Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes  /  Notes  techniques  et  bibliographiques 


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possible,  ces  pages  nont  pas  ete  filmees. 

Additional  comments  / 
Commentaires  supplementaires: 


D 

D 
D 

n 

n 

D 

a 

n 


L'Ir.stitut  a  microfilme  le  meilleur  exemplaire  qu'il  lui  a 
ete  possible  de  se  procurer.  Les  details  de  cet  exem- 
plaire qui  sont  peut-etre  uniques  du  point  de  vue  bibli- 
ographique,  qui  peuvent  modifier  une  image  reproduite, 
ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  une  modification  dans  la  metho- 
de  normale  de  filmage  sont  indiques  ci-dessous. 

I j   Coloured  pages  /  Tayes  de  couleur 

I j    Pages  damaged  /  Pages  endommagees 

Pages  restored  and/or  laminated  / 
Pages  restaurees  et/ou  pelliculees 

Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxed  / 
Pages  d6colorees,  tachetees  ou  piquees 

I I    Pages  detached  /  Pages  detachees 

I  v'\    Showthrough / Transparence 

I      j    Quality  of  print  varies  / 


D 


Quality  inegale  de  I'impression 

Includes  supplementary  material  / 
Comprend  du  matenel  supplementaire 

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possible. 


This  item  is  filmed  at  the  reduction  ratio  checked  below  / 

Ce  document  est  filme  au  taux  de  reduction  indique  ci-dessous. 


lOx 

14x 

18x 

22x 

26x 

3nif 

1 

12x 

16x 

20x 

24  X 

9R« 

32x 


The  copy  filmed  here  has  been  reproduced  thanks 
to  the  generosity  of: 

New  Hrunonick   Museum, 
Library  &  Archives  Department 

The  images  appearing  here  are  the  best  quality 
possible  considering  the  condition  and  legibility 
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filming  contract  specifications. 


Original  copies  in  printed  paper  covers  are  filmed 
beginning  with  the  front  cover  and  ending  on 
the  last  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impree- 
sion,  or  the  back  cover  when  appropriate.  All 
other  original  copies  are  filmed  beginning  on  the 
first  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, and  ending  on  the  last  page  with  a  printed 
or  illustrated  impression. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  — ♦-  (meaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  the  symbol  V  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  applies. 

Maps,  plates,  charts,  etc.,  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  are  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner    left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as 
required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


L'exemplaire  film*  fut  reproduit  grace  i  la 
gAn^rosit^  de: 

New  Brunsnick  Nuscum 

Library  &  Archives  Department 

Les  images  suivantes  ont  iti  reproduiies  avec  le 
plus  grand  soin.  compte  tenu  de  la  condition  et 
de  la  nertet*  de  lexemplaire  film*,  at  en 
conformit*  avec  les  conditions  du  contrat  de 
filmage. 

Les  exemplaires  originaux  dont  la  couverture  en 
papier  est  imprim*e  sont  filmAs  en  commencant 
par  le  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  la 
derniire  page  qui  comporte  une  ompreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration,  soit  par  le  second 
plat,  selon  le  cas.  Tous  les  autres  exemplaires 
originaux  sont  film*s  en  commenpant  par  la 
premiAre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  derniAre  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 

Un  des  symboles  suivants  apparaitra  sur  la 
derniAre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas;  le  symbole  — ♦•  signifie  "A  SUIVRE".  le 
symbole  V  signifie  "FIN  ". 

Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  etre 
film6s  ct  des  taux  de  reduction  diff6rents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  etre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  cliche,  11  est  film6  ^  partir 
de  I'angle  sup*rieur  gauche,  de  gauche  it  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  nAcessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
iliustrent  la  m^thode. 


1 

2 

3 

1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

MICROCOPY    RESOLUTION    TEST    CHART 

ANSI  end  ISO  TEST  CHART  No    2 


1.0 


M 


1.25 


IB 
m 

140 


1.4 


111= 

I  2.2 

II  2.0 

1.8 
1.6 


S     APPLIED   irvMGE     Inc 


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«■» 


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M 


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1-. 


•4N  UNCROM'NED  ^UEEN 


TfT'lHT'TfVSt*  .."S^*^ 


-~**s^  •^a&-j:;rr-—  g 


15  it^ 


AN  UNCROWNED 
^UEEN 

THK  STORY  OF  THK  LIFE 
OF  FRANCES  E.  WILLARD 
TOLD  FOR  YOUN(;  PEOPLE 


in 


BKRMK   BABCOCK 

^'    rUoK   ,„     'JtSlKK   TO  THK   W...MAN,"    'AT   T.IK   MKKCV 
Ol     Till;   STATK,"    KTC. 


(  IIICAGO  NEW  VokK  TCJUoXTU 

FLE\HX(i   H.  REVELL  COMPANY 

LONDON    AM)    KDIMilKfill 
Mf  Mill 


I   i>l'\i  HIi.HI  .   \'I02.   UN 

H.I"MI\<.    II     Kl  A  KI.l.   (  <  iMI'VNV 


CONTEiVrs 


TARI     I 


I'iav-Davs 


PART    11 


S(   IIii()1.-I)AYS 


61 


I'Aki'  III 


liii     Tkachkk  - 


I  21 


PART    IV 


UK      1 KAVKUKk 


16: 


I'ART    V 


Thf.   Rrfc^rmer 


20Q 


S-te.^Ji«*K5£',«"SSS*tr  -t-  =■!=£:■--•• 


PART  I 


PLAY-DAYS 


LET    A    fHILI)    fiKOW    AS    A    TRKK    (JROWS,    A(  COKniNf; 
TO    ITS    OWN    SWEET    WILL" 


CHAPTER   I 

III  liic  sprino  of  the  year  184(1.  travelers  along 
the  liighway  that  led  thnninh  the  forests  a.ul  swamps 
tiiat  lay  between  civilization  and  what  was  then 
<alkd  the  -Far  West."  nii-ht  have  seen,  slowlv 
■'.akin-  its  way  toward  the  land  of  the  setting  sun, 
a  caravan,  consisting  of  three  canvas-covered  wag- 
ons, loaded  with  household  goods  and  provisions, 
and  containing  members  of  a  family,  one  of  whose 
names  was  to  become  illustrious  on  the  pages  of 
history. 

The  steady-going  horses  of  the  first  wagon  were 
driven   by  the   father  of   the   family.    Josiah   Flint 
Willard:   a  man  whose  face  showed  him  to  be  pos- 
sessed  of    a  keen   and    well-trained   intellect    and 
unusual    determination,    and  who.    on    accour.^  of 
poor  health,  was  leaving  the  cultured  surroundings 
of  his  home  in   Oberlin.  Ohio,  where  he  had  been 
teaching  for  some  years,  lor  the  wild.  free,  western 
country,  where  prairies  stretched  acre  upon  acre  in 
unmeasured  lengths,  where  running  streams  watered 
the  fiekis,  antl  constant  breezes  keot  the  air  pure 
and  invigorating. 

The  second  waaon  was  drivi'n  in  .1  l->,u.  r,f  ^k^,,* 

9 


lo       /IN    UNCROirXED   K>UEEN 


twelve  years,  answering  to  the  name  of  Oliver,  who 
sat  holt  upright,  and  handled  his  horses  with  par- 
donable pride,  tor  the  journey  on  which  he  was  to 
have  eharge  (jf  the  team  was  to  he  a  long  one, 
extending  \\\k.  hundred  miles  through  the  wilds  of 
a  new  count r\. 

Upon  the  UxmX  seat  of  the  third  wagon  rode  a 
woman,  whose  dress  was  plain,  but  scrupulously 
neat  and  clean.  Her  e\e  was  kindly,  the  hand  that 
guided  her  horse  over  the  rough  way  was  steady, 
and  in  the  expression  of  her  face  was  blended  the 
womanly  gentleness  and  strength  of  purpose  that 
makes  character. 

Behind  her,  perched  higli  on  an  old-fashioned 
desk,  sat  two  small  girls,  who  looked  out  upon  the 
slowly  moving  panorama  of  forest  and  field  and 
tangle  with  keen  interest,  and  who  talked  familiarly 
to  flic  sober  black  dog  that  brought  up  the  rear  of 
the  caravan. 

Unlike  in  many  ways,  these  two  sisters.  Frances 
and  Mary,  were  united  in  their  love  of  nature  and 
its  created  beings,  and  it  was  this  intense  love, 
developcii  a  hundred-fold,  and  purified  and  conse- 
crated, that  afterward  played  the  all-important  part 
of  making  Frances  the  foremost  woman  of  the  age 
in  which  she  lived. 

For  a  period  of  over  four  weeks  the  family  con- 


A    PRISCESS   OF  NATURE 


1 1 


tinuL'd  on  the  western  journey,  stopping;  only  on 
Sunday,  this  rest  being  insisted  on  by  Mr.  Willard. 
Coming  from  Turitan  stock,  he  had  inherited  from 
his  ancestors  rigid  views  of  religion,  and  after  years 
of  training,  his  inherited  tendencies  showed  them- 
selves in  the  observance  of  many  commandments, 
one  of  the  most  important  of  these  being,  "Remem- 
ber the  Sabbath  day  to  keep  it  holy." 

When  Saturday  night  came  he  stopped  at  some 
inn,  if  possible;  when  no  such  stopping-place  could 
be  reached,  he  rested  by  the  wayside,  where  he 
worshiped  God  under  a  canop\-  of  forest  boughs, 
with  the  whispering  wind  to  sing  its  mysterious 
anthems  through  the  summer  woods. 

The  children,  who  were  unusuallv  bright  and 
observing,  early  came  to  believe  that  in  keeping 
God's  law  there  is  sure  reward,  and  an  occurrence 
that  impressed  their  young  minds  strongly  took 
place  on  their  westward  journey. 

The  second  day  after  the  family  started  on  their 
long  journey,  a  party  with  four  wagons  drawn  by 
splendid  horses  overtook  them.  This  company, 
being  in  a  great  hurry,  and  expecting  to  gain  time 
by  so  doing,  traveled  on  Sunday,  the  first  Sunday 
leaving  the  Willard  family  at  their  resting-place. 
During  the  week,  however,  the  Willard  family 
passed  them,  their  ho-es,  having  rested,  being  able 


I  2 


AN   UNCROWNED    <OUEEN 


to  make  better  time.  The  second  Sunday  the 
company  in  such  haste  to  reach  their  journey's 
end,  again  passed  the  party  that  rested  one  day  in 
seven,  and  the  second  week  Mr.  Willard's  party 
again  passed  the  others,  this  time  much  earlier  in 
the  week. 

The  third  Sunday  they  rested,  the  hurried  party 
did  not  pass  the  Willard  family  until  night-time. 
and  the  ne.xt  forenoon  the  Willards  overtook  them 
and  left  them  so  far  behind  that  they  were  not  seen 
again. 

At  the  time  this  journey  was  made,  the  whistle  of 
no  locomotive  had  sent  its  sharp  call  over  the  primi- 
tive woods  in  this  part  of  the  country;  and  what 
was  called  a  "railroad"  was  built  of  logs  from  one 
and  a  half  to  two  feet  in  diameter  and  laid  cross- 
ways  of  the  road. 

Such  a  line  of  railroad  was  built  across  the 
swamp  about  half-way  from  the  eastern  to  the 
western  line  of  Michigan,  and  was  especially  rough 
to  ride  over  and  hard  on  vehicles.  Before  the 
Willard  family  re^ch^d  its  end.  the  axle  in  one 
wagon  was  broken,  and  other  less  serious  accidents 
had  l-teen  caused. 

The  journey  all  along  the  way  had  its  incidents; 
some  of  them  not  altogether  pleasant,  as  when 
the  horse   Mrs.  Willard  was  driving  sank  into  the 


^    PRINCESS   OF  N.  ITU  RE 


«3 


quicksand  almost  to  its  ears,  and  had  to  \k'  pried 
out  by  rails  taken  for  the  purpose  from  a  fence 
near  by. 

But  the  children  looked  on  the  journey  as  an 
immense  pleasure  trip.  On  every  side  sights  and 
sounds  of  nature  drew  their  attention,  and  gave 
them  that  intense  pleasure  that  comes  only  to  child- 
ish imagination  through  childish  eyes  and  ears 

One  sight  that  made  a  lasting  impression  on 
them  was  the  waters  of  Lake  Michigan.  From  a 
far-away  blue  band  drawn  close  to  the  earth  line 
this  grew  as  if  by  magic  into  a  broatl  expanse  of 
blue,  rocking  underneath  a  myriad  of  foamy  ripples, 
and  sparkling  in  the  sun  as  if  set  with  a  million 
diamonds. 

Oliver  was  delighted  with  the  sublime  sight,  and 
hurried  down  the  sandy  shore  to  the  damp  line 
where  the  waters  lapped  the  sand.  But  to  the 
little  girls,  the  roar  of  the  water  sounded 
ominous;  the  rhythmic  beating  of  the  waves 
one  upon  the  other  suggested  the  forbidding  and 
unyielding  strength  of  the  mighty  main,  and  no 
persuasion  of  their  brother  could  tempt  them  near 
the  shore  line.  Even  the  ripple-marked  pebbles 
that  he  picked  up  from  the  sand  for  them,  they 
tossed  away,  saying,  if  thty  kept  them  they  might 
always  hear  the  "roaring  of  the  awful  sea." 


14       AN   L'NCKOlVyED   S^UEEM 


A  iVw  villngts  were  passed  on  the  westward 
joiiniey.  the  largest  l)ein^^  C-hicago.  .it  that  time  a 
low.  nuukl)-  place  of  aI)oiit  four  thousand  inhabi- 
tants, on  the  main  streets  of  which  were  posts 
driven  into  the  mud  holding  signs  which  read.  "No 
bottom  here." 

After  leaving  Chicago  the  roads  i)ecame  even 
worse  than  before,  in  some  places  being  almost 
impassable,  and  the  family  were  glad  when  they 
found  themselves  at  their  journev's  end. 

The  new  home  to  which  Mr.  Willard  had  brought 
his  family  was  a  farm  near  Janesville.  Wisconsin, 
and  was  built  on  the  edge  of  a  forest  of  oak  and 
hickory  trees  that  grew  on  the  banks  of  the  Rock 
River,  and  for  this  reason  was  called  Forest 
Home. 

Soon  after  their  arrival  the  children,  with  the 
keen  relish  of  the  explorer,  set  out  to  investigate  the 
wonderful  country  immediately  surrounding  the  new 
home,  a  territory  which  to  their  cliildish  imagination 
seemed  endless  in  extent,  and  instinct  with  the 
indescribable  charms  with  which  childish  fancy 
invests  the  unknown. 

When  tliey  went  for  the  first  time  to  the  forest 
b\-  the  river  side,  a  chorus  of  singing  birds  greeted 
tlieir  ear.  as  if  a  special  concert  were  being  given  in 
their  honor:  and  if  in  bird  rami  there  came  a  nniisc. 


/^    PK/NCESS   OF  N.rrURE 


'5 


the  children  heard  the  Kfiitlo,  soothing  music  made 
by  the  rusthng  leaves  as  'hey  were  brushed  against 
each  other  by  the  summci  wind. 

Just  beyond  tiie  forett  ran  the  river,  wliich 
Frances  and  Mary  were  dcHghted  witli.  for  it  did 
not  splash  and  foam  and  hurry  with  a  great  noise 
as  if  angry.  It  glided  away  smoothly  and  softly 
toward  the  south,  with  a  gentle  murmur  as  if  invit- 
ing them  to  come  and  play  with  it;  and  in  its  shal- 
low places  they  caught  glimpses  of  minnows 
scurrying  in  and  out  among  the  stones  that  were  to 
furnish  future  aquariums,  while  Oliver  sought  the 
deeper  water  for  his  boat. 

On  the  opposite  side  of  the  house  from  the 
forest  and  the  river,  the  prairie,  yellow  with  waving 
grain  in  summer  and  white  with  glistening  snow  in 
winter,  stretched  away  until  it  seemed  to  slip  under- 
neath the  low-hanging  sky.  At  one  sirle  of  the 
house  a  splendid  hill  was  discovered  on  which  beech 
and  hickory  nuts  grew,  and  around  the  base  of 
which  the  finest  flowers  of  spring  unfolded  their 
bright  blossoms. 

Partly  on  account  of  his  health,  and  partlv  drawn 
by  an  irresistible  love  of  nature.  Mr.  Willard  spent 
much  time  in  the  open  air,  scouring  fields  and 
woods  and  prairies. 

On  these  tauibles  he  carried  his  spv-glass  and 


16 


^/■V   UXCROlfNEI)   .^:IUEEN 


i::^::^   .m.    wit,,    which   st.-an,.    no...   ,n, 
instcts  were  examined. 

When  IH.  ,li,,„v,rcd  an  unfamiliar  varicv  i,  wa, 

I'l'ran,  l,c  kanu-cl  ,ts  habits  an<l  its  name 

On  n,a„y  of  tlK-s.  expeditions  Frances  and  Marv 

«".   w„l,  ,  eir  father.    Frances  hein^  especial,;. 
0    1  of  „,„d„„,  H,,,  ,„„  ,,^,  „^.^  ,_^_,^^_^  ^^^^^^^_^ 

and  never  strong. 

With  hin,  she  learnerl  the  haunts  of  animals  and 

-h,a,,„s.      She  learned  the  parts  of  plants  and 

,    "  "'"^'^  °'  «™"'l>-  and  the  sunshine  and  free- 

dom  and  fragrance  and  calm  of  nature,  in  some 
SUM  way  known  only  to  nature  itself.  I,e,.an  to  be 
caugh    up  and  formed  in  a  character  that  was  in 

"''■  l"^"^'"  °'  ''""■■  '"  K"e  back  in  abuntlant  n.eas- 
ureo,,,,        ,,,,,,^,^,,,,^,,^_^^,^,^^^^_^^^ 

o.  ou..  an.1  the  caIn,  restfulness  of  an  nnshakable 
J  ith  in  nature's  God. 

Though  th.re  was  nnu:h  work  to  be  done  at 
Forest  Hon.e.  a  portion  of  which  fell  to  tlie  children 
the  clays  spent  on  the  tarn,  were  the  play-davs  of  life' 
and  ,t  was  the  constant  aim  of  tne  parents  of  those 
children  to  make  their  childhood  davs  happv 

There  were  not  nunnv  tovs  at  Forest  Home,  but 
wuh  lavish  nature  all  about  them,  few  were  needed 
and  what  were  needed  were  made,  for  Frances  was 


i 


A   PRINCESS   OF   NATURE 


and 


J2 

especially  ingenious,  and  used  her  father's  tools  with 
the  skill  of  a  carpenter.  Sleds  and  carts  and  stilts 
were  manufactured  on  short  order,  while  bows 
arrows,  ^uns.  and  darts  were  tur.ied  out  with  rare 
skill,  and  made  both  attractive  and  formidable  by  a 
free  use  of  bright  paint. 

Playhouses  were  built  of  wood  and  bricks,  and 
in  these  mud  pies  were  served  out  of  dishes  which 
Frances  modeled  from  clay  and  baked  in  the  sun- 
shine. 

On  the  occasion  of  the  mud-pie  dinin^rg.  the 
dolls  which  had  made  the  lon^r  ,rip  f^om  the  East 
were  present,  generally  in  the  "dress  they  wore 
last."  for  to  .Mary's  great  grief.  Frances  would  not 
sew.  and  the  poor  dolls  might  have  appeared  naked 
before  she  would  have  provided  a  costume,  so  great 
was  her  aversion  to  a  needle. 

Well,  indeed,  for  the  happiness  of  this  child,  and 
for  the  welfare  of  those  her  future  life  was  to  affect, 
was  it  that  her  mother,  with  the  wisdom  of  few 
mothers,  refused  to  force  her  to  tasks  for  which 
nature  had  not  fitted  her.  but  rather  let  her  grow 
m  harmony  with  nature,  supplementing  nature's 
work  by  instilling  in  the  childish  mind  a  desire  for 
that  subtle  spiritual  power,  the  possession  of  which 
makes  "life,  death,  and  the  vast  forever,  one  long 
sweet  song. " 


CHAPTER  [I 


In  a  short  time  after  the  Willard  family  came 
into  possession  of  Forest  Home,  a  great  cliange  had 
taken  place  in  its  appearance.  The  bare  and  lone- 
some cottage  disappeared,  and  in  its  place  stood 
the  most  homelike  dwelling  in  that  part  of  the  state. 

Being  fond  of  outdoor  Wurk.  each  member  ot 
the  Willard  family  set  about  transforming  the  new 
home  into  a  garden  spot,  and  under  their  care 
shrubs  and  vines  and  flowers  grew  in  profusion. 
One  rose-bush  planted  by  the  porch  climbed  over 
its  trellis  onto  the  roof,  where  it  lay  under  its 
weight  of  crimson  llowcrs,  while  at  the  other  end 
of  the  porch  a  Virginia  creeper  shook  its  purple 
clusters,  making  such  a  combination  of  colors  as 
no  less  an  artist  than  nature  can  devise  without 
offense. 

Mr.  Willard  was  especially  fond  of  evergreens. 
To  him  they  were  the  emblem  of  perpetual  life, 
and  he  planted  them  in  such  numbers  that  when 
grown,  an  evergreen  screen  stood  between  the  road- 
way and  the  dwelling. 

Mrs.  Willard,  herself  something  of  an  artist, 
enjoyed  blending  the    brilliant   colors  of  tulips  in 

i8 


A   PRINCESS   OF  NATURE 


»9 


fancy  beds,  and  she  loved  fragrant  flowe.s.  old- 
tashioned  pinks  being  her  especial  delight.  Frances 
and  Mary  also  had  each  her  own  little  flower- 
garden,  and  watched  their  flowers  grow  from  the 
time  they  pushed  themselves  from  the  tiny  seed, 
until  they  gave  out  their  own  seed  for  another  sum- 
mer garden  bed. 

Besides  the  flowers  to  be  taken  care  of.  there 
were  innumerable  pets,  for  the  farm  was  scx)n 
stocked  with  numbers  of  domestic  animals  and 
fowls,  and  the  children  were  not  slow  to  select  their 
favorites  and  ascribe  to  therr  >'onderful  intelligence 
and  grace  of  manners. 

There  was  "\ig.-  the  black  goat  which  was  so 
well  trained  that  he  was  of  inestimable  value  on 
picnic  occasions.     There  was  ' '  Simmie. ' '  the  smart 
lamb  that  learned  tricks;   "Sukey."  the  naughty 
piR  that  drank  lye.  and  would  have  died  if  he  had 
not  followed  his  diet  of  lye  by  liberal  quantities  of 
sour  milk;    "Stumpy."   the  chicken,  whose  legs 
froze  off.  and  who  knew  so  much  he  could  almost 
talk;  "Trudge,"  the  kitten,  whose  feats  were  re- 
markable, and  who  knew  enough  not  to  eat  a  tame 
mouse.     Then  there  was  a  peacock  that  sat  on  the 
ridge  of  the  barn  where  its  brilliant  tail  could  be 
seen  to  good  advantage,  pigs  that  took  the  prize  at 
the  fair,  caivcs  and  colts,  a  canary,  a  pair  of  white 


20 


AN   UNCROIVNED   y^UEEN 


rabbits,  and  a  white  kitttn,  which  was  the  sole  prop- 
erty of  Mary. 

Of  course  ihe  good  dog  Fido,  having  come  all 
the  way  from  Ohio,  held  first  place  among  the 
pets,  and  when  Mr.  Willard  had  a  thousand  shee[) 
to  care  for  he  kept  many  other  dogs,  some  of  which 
made  excellent  pets. 

Witli  such  a  collection  it  was  not  surprising  that 
the  uncertainty  of  life  presented  itself  to  the  minds 
of  the  children,  and  ever  ready  to  do  the  most  for 
their  pets,  Frances  and  Mary  selected  a  spot  under 
a  favorite  crab-apple  tree  for  a  cemetery. 

This  arrangement  proved  satisfactory,  for  it  was 
not  long  until  dec.di  claimed  the  canary,  who  was 
given  a  splendid  funeral,  the  making  arrangements 
for  this  funeral  affording  an  immense  amount  of 
consolation. 

Not  long  after  the  canary  had  been  put  in  his 
last  resting-place,  the  rabbits  died,  and  on  their 
shingle  tombstone  was  printed 

"Beauty  and  Brighty; 

Our  [)ct  rabbits; 

Wc  loved  them,  but  they  died," 

The  most  solemn  occasion  of  this  nature,  how- 
ever, occurred  when  Mary's  white  kitten  passed 
away.  Even  the  pleasure  attendant  upon  the 
funeral  obsequies  hardly  compensated  for  the  loss 


A   PRINCESS   OF   NATURE 


of  tilis  pet.  The  ^^rave  was  lined  wit'n  flowers,  and 
while  the  remains  were  beini;-  lowered   Mar\  san-^- 

"Ala^,  pour  (x-t,  and  did  it  die? 
How  dismal  thi>  must  be," 

and  after  the  ceremony,  a  shrub  ol  unknown  variety 
was  brouj;ht  from  the  forest  with  .i;reat  care  and 
planted  on  the  kitten's  mounil,  where  it  <;rew  into 
a  tree,  known  to  the  children  ever  after  as  the 
"kittie  tree." 

Besides  all  these  pets,  Mary  had  an  interesting 
collection  of  an  unusual  kind,  consisting  of  several 
families  of  ants  which  had  thrown  up  their  mounds 
in  the  garden  where  she  sjjent  much  time  watching 
them  as  they  hurried  about. 

One  day,  after  studying  them  some  time,  she 
said,  "I  wonder  if  we  don't  seem  as  small  and 
ignorant  to  God  as  these  ants  do  to  us.=  "  and  then, 
as  if  talking  to  herself,  she  answered.  "Oh  no.  that 
can't  be  true,  for  it  is  natural  that  (lod  should  care 
tor  us.  since  we  are  in  his  image,  and  since  his  Son 
gave  up  his  life  for  us." 

One  day  while  watching  her  ants  a  boy  took  a 
stick  and  began  stirring  the  mound,  nuich  to  the 
horror  of  Mary,  who  caught  his  hand  to  stay  his 
mo\enients. 

"1  just  want  to  see  what  ants  keep  in  their 
houses, ' '  he  said. 


2  2        AN    UNCROWNED    ^-rUEEN 

"Please  (lon"t,"  she  begged;  "how  would  you 
like  to  have  your  house  torn  down  bv  some  ugly 
giant,  and  yourselt  turned  out?"  wiiich  thought 
made  things  appeal  differently  to  the  boy,  no 
doubt. 

To  Frances,  who  was  especially  fond  of  boyish 
sport,  it  was  a  great  grief  because  she  was  not 
allowed  to  ride  horseback  as  Oliver  was.  In  most 
of  his  spor'  ~  she  joined  him. 

When  he  walked  stilts,  she  walked  with  him  on 
stilts  as  high;  wlien  he  played  marbles,  she  knelt 
on  the  ground  and  shot  with  an  accuracv  that  any 
boy  might  envy;  when  he  swung  horseshoes,  she 
swung  horseshoes;  when  he  played  prisoner's  base, 
she  played,  and  there  was  none  more  fleet  footed; 
and  when  it  was  decided  to  take  a  few  slides  down 
the  haystack,  she  entered  the  sport  with  vigor. 

When,  therefore,  she  saw  Oliver  jump  onto  the 
back  of  old  Jack  or  old  Gray,  and  dash  off  down 
the  pasture,  while  the  best  she  could  do  was  to  look 
on,  she  was  thoroughly  disgusted,  and  in  her  own 
mind  sought  some  reason  more  satisfactory  than 
that  given  by  her  lather,  that  girls  should  not  ride 
horseback  as  bovs  did. 

After  considering  the  pr(;blem  some  time,  with 
h.er  usual  originality  and  determination  she  decided 
to  provide  herself  with  a  saddle-horse    bv    train- 


A    PRINCESS   OF  NATURE        21 


\ng   for  this   purpose   a  cow   which  was  her  own 
property. 

When  she  told  OHvcr  of  her  scheme,  and  asked 
him  to  assist  to  the  extent  of  fixing;  a  halter,  he  said 
that  a  creature  that  chewed  the  cud  and  divided  the 
hoof  was  never  meant  for  ridiui;  purposes. 

"She  can  do  it  if  she  has  a  mind  to,"  Frances 
answered,  with  her  usual  determination. 

But   O'lver  insist'xl   that  the  cow  did   her  part 
giving  miiK,  and  ought  not  he  made  into  a  horse. 
Still  Frances  insisted  slie  would  ride  the  cow. 
"Cows  are  a  lazy  set."  she  said,  "and  because 
they  never  have  worked  is  no  reason  thev  shouldn't 
begin  now.      Up   in   Lapland   they  make   a  great 
many  uses  of  the  deer  that  people  do  not  where  we 
live,  and  he  is  all  the  better  and  more  famous  ani- 
mal for  it.      If  father  won't  let  me  ride  a  horse, 
I'll   make   "Dime"   the   best   trained   and  accom- 
plished cow  in  the  pasture,  and  she  will  like  it,  too, 
if  you'll  only  let  her  alone." 

But  Oliver  could  not  be  persuaded  to  lend  his 
influence  to  what  he  considered  an  improper  pro- 
ject. So  Frances  induced  the  liired  man  to  help 
make  a  harness,  while  she  began  the  process  of 
training  by  petting  the  cow  and  giving  h.er  extra 
feed  until  the  happv  bovine  would  follow  her  mis- 
tress like  a  dog.  and  "moo"  w'u'u  slie  came  near. 


14       -IN   UNCROIFNED  0UEEN 


This  much  Ixin^^  acconiphshcd,  Frances  con- 
tinued the  training  process  by  teaching  the  cow  to 
submit  to  the  curry  coml).  for  she  declared  that  her 
horse  must  appear  as  glossy  and  well  kept  as  any 
other  person's  steed. 

The  first  important  state  of  the  training  came 
when  a  bridle  was  put  -ni  the  cow.  and  after  this 
she  was  hitched  to  a  sled  bv  means  of  the  harness 
that  Oliver  had  refused  to  help  prepare. 

It  took  some  time  to  teach  the  cow  to  draw  the 
sled,  but  this  was  accomplished  at  last,  and  the 
imi)ortant  task  of  breaking  her  to  the  saddle  re- 
mained. 

Even  this  task  was  accomplished  to  the  entire 
satisfaction  of  Frances  after  some  weeks  of  hard 
work,  and  she  climbed  onto  the  back  of  her  unusual 
steed  to  take  her  long-desired  ride. 

She  had  many  a  tumble  before  she  finally  ad- 
justed herself  to  the  ungainly  motions  of  her  trained 
cow,  but  Oliver  never  had  the  fun  of  seeing  her 
fall,  lor  she  took  this  particular  exercise  in  the  pas- 
ture while  Olive/,  with  the  hired  men,  was  working 
in  the  fields. 

This  trained  cow  proved  valualilc  in  two  ways; 
not  only  did  it  ser\e  the  |)urpose  of  a  horse,  but  it 
served,  perhaps  as  chie'  cause,  for  the  revision  of 


A   PRINCESS   OF   X.  ITU  RE         25 


Mr.  Willard's  (Iccrce:  for  when  it  came  to  his  atten- 
tion that  liis  (lau<;hter  I->anccs  was  riding  a  traircd 
cow,  no  tloul)t  on  the  jioHcv  of  choosing  between 
twt)  evils,  he  declared  forthwith  that  she  might  ride 
Jack  and  Gray. 


31  . 


CHAPTER    III 


To  tlie  merry,  carc-frce  children  that  were  p^row- 
ing  near  to  nature's  licart  at  Forest  Home,  the 
seasons  |)asse(l  rapidly,  each  possessing  its  own 
peculiar  merits. 

The  first  fall  turned  the  forest  by  the  river  into 
a  giant  mass  of  gold  and  crimson,  and  autumn  flow- 
err  made  the  by-ways  and  fence  corners  bright  with 
many  colors.  Autunm  fruits  were  gathered; 
pumpkins  and  potatoes  and  beets  and  cabbage  were 
rolled  into  the  cellar  for  the  winter  supply;  and  a 
rich  harvest  of  nuts  was  gathered  by  the  children 
and  the  squirrels,  witli  which  they  came  to  be  on 
familiar  terms  at  a  speaking  distance. 

With  winter  came  the  days  of  coasting  down  the 
pasture  hill,  the  choice  occasions  when  the  savory 
pickles  and  preserves  were  brought  from  the  cellar, 
and  the  evenings  around  the  fireside  when  nuts  and 
popcoiu  helped  pass  the  long  hours. 

But  with  all  its  pleasures,  winter  passed  most 
slowly  to  the  children  of  Forest  Home,  and 
the  sound  of  the  spring  rain  pattering  on  the 
shingles    over    their   little    bedroom   was    to   them 

...... .,,,v         ,,..,,.,1    ,       ,1.1        i::.^y       rwiii^  vv        U       ii.^u      ;-OI    "  ^*      iU 

36 


A   PRINCESS   OF  NATURE 


^7 


melt   the    snow,    and    that    full    springtime    would 
soon  follow. 

They  loved  to  watch  the  buds  swell  and  the 
tender  green  unfold,  and  when  the  soft  south  breeze 
began  to  blow,  they  knew  it  was  time  to  look  for 
the  first  spring  flowers. 

If  they  were  a  bit  in  doubt  as  to  whether  their 
mother  would  let  them  venture  out,  they  sent  Mary, 
who  was  champion  coaxer,  to  "coax,"  which  she 
did  by  climbing  on  her  mother's  lap,  patting  her  face 
softly,  and  saving,  "Dear,  kind,  beautiful,  luvelv 
mamma,  it's  warm  and  cool  and  comf 'table,  and 
won't  you  />/ursr  let  us  go  out,"  and  she  rarely 
made  this  feeling  plea  in  vain. 

On  the  hill  behind  the  h.ouse  and  in  the  shel- 
tered nooks  in  the  big  ravine  they  went  to  find  the 
first  flowers — the  dainty  anemone. 

Next  came  the  buttercups,  and  later  the  crow's- 
foot  geranium,  shooting  star,  wild-rose,  and  lilv.  and 
many  flowers  that  the  children  did  not  know  by 
name. 

After  Frances  had  grown  to  be  a  woman  she 
still  loved  to  think  of  the  days  when  she  gathered 
flowers  in  the  springtime  at  Forest  Home,  and  in 
her  book,  "Glimpses  of  Fifty  Years,"  she  \  rote 
of  them:  "We  sought  the  quiet  dells  in  the  'north 
pasture,'  where   a   sort   of    wild-mint   grew,    with 


:8        /IN    UNCROIVNED   .<-^UEEN 


smell  so  fash  and  sweet  as  can't  Ijc  told;  and 
where  were  mosses  lovelier  tlian  the  velvet  of  the 
queen's  throne.  We  put  our  ears  to  the  ground 
as  Indians  do,  and  heard  sounds  afar  off,  or  thought 
we  did,  which  answered  just  as  well.  \'oices  came 
to  us  as  we  listened,  through  the  woods  and  from 
the  prairie  near  !  v,  tliat  thrilled  our  hearts  with 
joy.  The  jay,  the  blue-bird,  and  the  mbiu  made 
nuisic  vastly  sweeter  than  any  we  ever  heard  else- 
where or  afterward.  But  the  'prairie-chickens' 
had  organized  tlie  special  orchestra  that  we  listened 
to  with  most  delight  in  the  fair  spring  days.  It 
was  a  peculiar  .strain,  not  a  song  at  all,  as  every- 
body knows,  but  a  far-off,  melk)w,  rolling  sound,  a 


sort    of    drum     beat,     rising    and    falling. 


cuchng 


through  the  air  and  along  the  ground,  'so  near  and 
yet  so  far,'  it  seemed  to  us  like  a  breath  from 
nature's  \ery  lips.  Perhaps  it  came  so  gently  and 
with  such  welcome  to  our  hearts,  because  it  was 
r.ie  '-arest,  surest  harl)inger  of  spring.  Xow  the 
lambs  would  soon  be  pla\  ing  in  the  pastures;  now 
the  oriole  would  soon  1)e  flashing  through  the  trees, 
the  thrush  singing  in  the  fields,  and  the  quail's 
sweet  note  'more  wheat'  would  cheer  the  fanner  at 
his  toil:  the  river  would  soon  nii.ror  the  boudis 
that  would  bend  over  it  their  rich  summer  green, 
....  1.,,..,.  .  ..,..,-  o\.^i  ^ji-^.  ^uHc,  iicMi  bpring  ram  was 


A   PRIXCESS   OF  NATURE       29 


often  on  the  roof,  and  the  heavens  grew  warm  and 
blue.  All  these  things  were  in  the  far-off,  curious 
notes  of  the  prairie-thickens  that  we  never  saw, 
but  only  listened  to  with  smiling  faces,  while  girls 
and  chick-ens,  after  their  own  fashion,  thanked  God 
that  spring  had  come  once  more." 

When  spring  had  given  place  to  summer,  picnics 
were  a  favorite  pastime  at  Forest  Home,  and  of  all 
the  delightful  spots  on  the  farm  the  pasture  afforded 
the  most  suitable  places. 

Here  were  cool  shaded  nooks;  here  the  black- 
birds sang  their  merriest  songs;  while  from  the  far 
end  of  the  meadow  the  silvery,  dreamy  tinkle  of 
cow-bells  made  music  that  lived  in  memory  when 
years  of  time  and  miles  of  space  separated  the 
happy  children  from  their  childhood  days  and 
home. 

Sometimes  when  the  breeze  came  from  the 
woods  down  by  the  river  it  brought  tlie  sad  song  of 
the  mourning  dove,  and  when  the  children  heard 
this,  they  gave  short  sighs.  They  did  not  know 
why,  but  the  hidden  bird  seemed  to  be  crving  softly 
for  joys  that  had  gone  never  to  return,  or  singing 
in  \U  own  sad  way  a  song  of  patient  sorrow;  and 
the  sorrow  that  comes  sometime  into  every  life, 
seemed  as  far  removed  from  these  two  children 
playing  ;n  the  sunshine  as  v.ui.  ihc  mourning  dove 


30       ^-IN   UNCROPP'NED   f^UEEN 


securely    liidtlcn    in    the    depths   of    the    distant 
wood. 

"^'iJ,^"  the  trained  ^oat.  performed  the  impor- 
tant part  of  carrying  the  lunch  on  these  enjoyable 
occasions,  the  same  being  packed  in  saddlebags 
made  by  Mrs.  Wilk-d  for  the  purpose,  which  hung 
over  his  back  at  safe  distance  from  his  mouth. 

When  some  favorite  grassy  spot  had  been 
reached  by  the  picnic  party,  the  goat  was  tied  in 
a  thicket  of  hazel-bushes,  the  dogs  went  rabbit 
hunting,  and  the  girls  unpacked  the  panniers. 

On  the  clean  cloth  which  was  spread  under  the 
shade  of  some  great  tree,  the  white  bread  and  but- 
ter and  pumpkin  pie  were  arranged,  a  blessing  was 
said,  in  order  that  the  feast  might  seem  as  much  as 
possible  like  an  important  function,  after  which  the 
feast  was  devoured  with  great  relish,  the  children 
imagining  they  could  taste  sunshine  and  violets  in 
the  golden  butter,  and  delectable  flavors  indescrib- 
able in  the  pumpkin  pie.  As  a  beverage,  these 
banquets  were  generally  supplied  with  a  bottle  of 
spring  water,  which  was  sucked  through  rye 
straws. 

Sometimes  the  picnics  w^rc  turned  into  fishing 
and  hunting  parties  or  e.xploring  expeditions,  and 
once  at  least,  Frances,  who  carried  a  bow  and 
arrow,  exercised  her  skill  in  a  wav  that  made  her 


^    PR/XCKSS   OF   N.rrURE 


J> 


mother  shudder  when   it  was  afterward  related  to 
her  by  the  girls  with  much  pride. 

Perhaps  she  liad  read  the  story  of  WiUiam  Tell 
and  thought  to  perform  a  like  feat  of  skill.  To 
tliis  end  slie  instructed  Mary  to  stand  beside  a  post 
through  which  was  an  augur  hole.  Marv's  blue 
eyes  came  just  even  witii  this  hole  through  which 
Frances  shot  arrow  after  arrow,  so  confident  in  her 
skill  that  she  never  once  thought  that  if  siie  missed 
the  hole  Mary's  blue  eye  would  be  the  cost. 

To  both  Frances  and  Mary  the  haunts  and 
habits  of  birds  were  familiar,  and  many  times 
through  the  leaves  they  watched  the  mother  birds 
build  their  nests  and  tend  their  young.  To  Mary, 
who  as  she  said  loved  everything  but  snakes,  spi- 
ders, and  mosquitoes,  cruelty  to  the  most  humble 
creature  was  especially  distressing,  and  she  guarded 
the  birds  as  if  they  were  her  especial  care 

Oftentimes  boys  came  into  the  pasture  looking 
for  birds,  but  so  long  as  Mary  was  there  no  bird 
was  ever  harmed  nor  no  nest  robbed. 

"You  may  climb  the  tree  and  look  if  you  want 
to  see  the  eggs  and  the  little  ones,  but  you  can't 
hurt  a  birdie,  big  or  little,  in  our  pasture,"  and  it 
was  only  when  she  became  thoroughly  convinced  of 
the  honesty  of  the  boys  that  she  would  lift  up  the 

leaves  .nnd    nnrt  fVm    hon"-l->c  '^f    t^tt  l-it-l-.--     -I 

— 1_  J — t'uu^jii  _rx  ine  DUsntb  biiuwmg 


.w 


.IN    UNCROJl'NED   y:iUEEN 


with  admiriuj;  pkasuic  uhcrc  the  thrushes  and  the 
robins  lived,  and  how  they  built  their  nests  and 
cared  for  their  younj;. 

Frances  was  also  kind  hearted,  but  she  had  pro- 
nounced opinions  of  thin^^s;  she  reasoned  from 
effect  back  to  cause,  and  arj^ued  that  there  was  a 
time  when  even  kindness  ceased  to  be  a  virtue. 

Oftentimes  a  couple  (jf  neij;hbor  boys  joined  the 
girls  in  the  pasture  after  a  picnic,  and  enjoyed 
themselves  drowning;  out  gophers. 

Mary's  tender  heart  was  hurt  by  such  sport,  but 
Frances  said:  "Well,  it's  this  way.  the  gopher  digs 
up  the  corn  and  spoils  the  crop.  Many  a  time 
We've  dropjK-d  corn  into  hills  for  Oliver  and  father 
till  we've  tired  ourselves  out  getting  it  under 
ground,  and  along  would  come  this  black-striped 
yellowcoat  and  eat  up  our  corn  be^^ore  it  vvus 
started.  So  father  said  it  was  our  plain  duty  to 
catch  as  many  as  we  could,  and  we've  set  traps, 
and  tried  all  sorts  of  ways,  but  the  one  the  'ooys 
like  best  is  drowning  out.  Father  told  ui^  that  the 
poet  Cowper,  who  writes  so  well  about  kindness  to 
animals,  says,  'Our  rights  are  paramount  and  must 
extinguish  theirs";  that  is.  when  they  spoil  our 
work,  we  are  obliged  to  spoil  them,  for  the  general 
good. 

After  such  a  speech  from  Frances,  the  fate  of 


f 


.-i    PRIXCESS    OF   N  ril'KE 


}} 


the  p(K)r  gopher  was  dcrrLtd.  hi.,  hole  un .  flooded 
until  hf  canic  K'aspin^'  to  the  top.  only  '.,  he  cau.r'ht 
111  tiic  teeth  of  Carlo,  or  vanf|iiished  hy  a  hlow  of 
her  shovel,  which  was  a  favorite  weapon  with 
F"  ranees. 


I 


CHAPTER   IV 


One  suniiiicr  there  came  to  Forest  Home  on  a 
hunliiii;  e.\])cclition  a  gentleman  who  had  traveled 
(.  xteiisiveh'  in  I'-urope,  whose  brother  wa>  a  famous 
artist,  and  wlio  was  himself  an  amateur  ot  no  mean 
abilit\ 

Bv  liie  eliihhen  on  this  Western  farm,  each  of 
which  possesset!  considerable  artistic  al)ihty,  this 
[gentleman  was  looked  upon  as  a  sort  of  prince, 
more  especialh  so  upon  receivini;  from  him  after 
his  visit  a  splendid  collection  of  choice  sketches, 
some  of  which  had  been  done  b\-  the  famous  brother. 

The  effect  of  this  i;entleman"s  visit  was  to  stir 
up  at  Forest  Home  such  a  passion  for  art  that  it 
\va::>  deemed  necessarv,  espec-ially  bv  Mary,  to 
orj;ani/e  an  "artists'  club,"  which  was  to  have  two 
officers,  and  meet  twice  a  week.  The  object  of  this 
club  was  tleclared  to  be  the  "mi'.tual  improvement 
of  the  arti.^t^  who  attend."  It  was  als(j  declared 
that  "there  shall  be  an  exhibition  held  on  the  last 
d.iv  of  each  month,  at  which  i)ri/es  shall  be  awarded 
[it  those  artists  whose  woiks  are  the  best.  The 
per.>on  to  decide  upon  this  shall  be  Mrs.  Willard, 
and  Mr.  Willard  when  she  is  away." 

M 


A    PRISCFJS    Ob    NATURE        ^5 


AnotluT  iniportaiit  item  provided  lor  l)v  the  con- 
stitution of  the  "Artists'  "hih"   \v:i.s  tliat,  "there 


shall    alua\-s   be    some  'lii 


IK 


if'  cat.    and  the 


president  shall  look  at  •■  fliis  iiiatte-,  in  return  for 
which  she  shall  have  ,  >■  s.at  ot  honor  and  make 
the  first  s])eech.  She  shall  also  oet  thin.i;s  ready 
when  the  club  ;;oes  on  an  excursion;  shall  see  that 
the  doi^  i'^  haltered,  and  take  a  little  food  alonj;-  for 
liim  as  Well  as  for  the  rest;  shall  ,i;et  the  yun  reach', 
and  the  box  in  which  thint^s  are  carried." 

After  the  formation  of  this  club,  the  immediate 
necessitvof  havin- a  "studio"  presented  itself,  and 
.Mrs.  Willard  I'ame  to  their  help  b\  tendering;-  the 
club  the  use  of  an  unfinished  ui)stairs  room, 

This  jiroved  a  most  fittist-  place.  By  usiiin  old 
<|uilts,  on  which  were  panned  all  tlie  eni;ravin<;s 
obtainable,  partitions  were  formed.  Other  walls 
Were  decorated  with  the  rude  drawings  of  the  chil- 
dren, done  by  them  in  water-colors,  and  j)en-and- 
ink,  and  by  the  free  use  of  fla,^s,  of  which  they  had 
(juite  a  collection. 

Hv  lonjj,  odds  the  most  valuable  work  of  art  in 
the  studio  was  a  real  oil-paintin,u of  Mrs.  Willard. 
lo  be  sure,  the  reason  it  was  allowed  bv  its  origi- 
nal owner  to  aj)piear  in  the  '  studio"  was  l)ecause 
tliere  was  no  resemblance  between  it  anrl  its  sub- 
ject, but  this  i)roved  a  matter  of  sni;ill   imnortrmn,. 


36 


AN    UNCROJt'NED   ^iWEEN 


and  an  easel  was  especially  constructed  for  the  pur- 
pose of  display  in-  it  to  the  greatest  advantage. 

This  easel  was  made  by  Frances,  who  had  never 
seen  an  easel,  hut  who,  from  a  picture,  got  a  fairly 
good  idea.  After  receiving  a  coat  of  red  paint,  it 
was  considered  such  a  brilliant  success  that  it  was 
placed  in  the  full  light  of  a  dormer-window. 

In  the  other  window  a  bench  was  placed,  futed 
with  wooden  mallets  and  chisels  tor  working  in  clay, 
with  a  supply  of  clay,  such  as  Frances  made  dishes 

of. 

Shelves  were  arranged  for  the  ([uecr  stones, 
arrow  heads,  curios,  insects,  and  other  things  of 
which  thev  had  (juite  a  cf)llection,  and  tables  were 
made  and  supplied  witii  vases  of  tlowers. 

After  the  studio  had  been  ci erectly  dedicated,  a 
second  club  was  formed,  at  the  special  request  of 
Frances,  who  declared  that  above  all  things  in  earth 
or  skv.  she  wanted  to  be  a  mighty  hunter. 

This  club  was  known  to  its  members  as  the 
"Rustic  Club,"  and  one  of  the  first  actions  taken 
bv  it  was  to  design  a  "hunter's  costume." 

It  was  readily  agreed  that  this  should  be  "none 
of  vour  soft  citv  clothes,"  but  something  that  "must 
stand  wear  and  tear,  not  take  forever  to  put  on, 
and  be  snake  procjf. " 

Fran.-esmade  the  designs  for  this  costume,  which 


A    PRT'CESS   OF  N.J  TURK        37 


consisted  of  coat,  trousers,  li:',t,  aiul  mittens  of  calf- 
skin, and  boots  of  cowlude.  She  went  so  far  as  to 
produce  tlie  desij^ns  in  colors,  hut  it  is  nowhere 
stated  tliat  the  finished  <,Mrnients  were  ever  seen  by 
the  club. 

This  "Rustic  Club"  was  governed  by  rules  and 
regulations,  and  contained  in  its  constitution  a 
declaration  of  principle  suggested  by  Frances, 
which  read: 

"God  made  the  country, 
Man  made  the  town, 
The  country  is  our  choice." 

The  rules  and  regulations  read  as  follows: 

1.  The  object  of  th.is  Club  is  to  give  its  mem- 
bers the  enjoyment  of  hiDitiiii;.  fisliDrj;,  and  trap- 
ping, widi  other  rural  pleasures  at  once  exciting 
and  noble. 

2.  We.  the  members  of  this  Club,  hereby  choose 
Fred  as  our  dog.  although  once  in  a  while  we 
in^ty  take  Carlo;  he  can  go  when  he  has  sense 
enough. 

3-  The  meetings  shall  be  h,eld  1  after  a  few 
days)  every  Wednesday  and  Saturday,  at  such 
times  as  shall  l>e  deemed  convenient  and  proper. 
The  tirst  one  shall  be  held  in  F's  half  of  the  studio, 
nnd  the  next  in  M's  half,  and  so  on. 

4.    liie  ubjeel  ul  liicbe  meetings  i.-,  to  relate  any 


.38        AN    UNCROJVNF.B   .<^UEEX 

ariccdi'tc  that  |Krtains  to  huntiii,^,  in  anv  of  its 
Ijianciu's;  tell  what  ^rcat  thin^;s  wl-  have  done  our- 
glIvcs,  or  tliat  Lorcn  or  the  Hodge  bovs  have,  or 
Daniel  Boone,  or  anvhodv  else. 

3.  For  hunting  purposes,  the  names  of  the 
founders  of  this  Club  shall  be  Bowman  and  15onnv, 
and  as  we  may  get  a  good  way  apart  when  we  are 
out  hunting,  one  of  us  will  carrv  an  old  dipper 
handle  to  serve  as  a  hunter's  bugle,  dm\  the  other 
a  >heep-bell  lor  the  same  pm'pose,  and  we  will  have 
tile  f(jllowing  arrangement  of 

SIGXALS. 

Wlien  Bowman  gives 

Two   blasts,    tliat    means.    "Ronnv.    where  are 

\ou .' ' ' 
Three  blasts.  "Come  here,  quick!" 
Four  blasts,  "Meet  me  at  Robin  Hood's  tree." 
Five  blasts,  "Meet  me  on  the  river  l)ank." 
Six  blasts,  "Let's  g(j  to  the  house." 
Eight  blasts,  "Yes." 
Ten  blasts.  "  Xo.  " 
Twelve  blasts.  "  Oh  do.'" 

When  Bonnv  gives 

One  shake,  ''Bowman,  where  are  you.^" 
Two  shakes,  "Come  here,  (juickl" 
Three  shakes,  "IMcct  me  .it  the  troc" 


.V   PRIXCh  S  OF  N.rruRK 


v> 


Four  shakes,  "Meet  me  at  the  river  bank." 

Five  shakes,  "Yes. " 

Six  shakes,  "Let's  ^u  home." 

Ten  shakes,  "  Xo.  " 

Twelve  shakes.  "Oh  do!" 

N.  B.  Any  sii^nal  repeated  over  and  over  means 
that  you  request  compHance  very  earnestl\-. 

(Signed)     Bowman  and  Boimv. 

In  all  her  hunting  expeditions  Frances  was 
allowed  to  choose  h(>r  weapons  and  carrv  on  her 
warfare  as  slie  pleased,  nothing  short  of  a  gun 
being  prohibited. 

But  It  was  a  gun  that  she  most  wished  for.  and 
when  Oliver  got  his  first  gun,  she  was  not  at  all 
satisfied  by  being  allowed  to  discharge  it  when  her 
niotlier  was  on  hand  to  see  that  no  harm  came  of 
the  experiment. 

But  if  Frances  might  not  use  a  gun,  she  wanted 
it  distinctly  understood  that  it  was  not  because  she 
was  afraid  of  it.  This  she  proved  effectivelv  bv 
accepting  from  Oliver  a  dare  to  walk  around  the 
pasture  in  front  of  him  while  he  carried  his  double- 
barreled  shot-gun  just  behind  her  with  both  ham- 
mers cocked. 

As  a  meeting-place  for  the  telling  of  experiences 
and  the  designing  of  new  plans,  the  "studio" 
proved   a   success. 


...,,1 


r  ranees  ^nu   ..■•larv  vuted 


40 


AN   VNCROIVNED   y:iUEEN 


their  country  home  one  of  the  most  dehghtful  places 
in  tlie  world. 

This  being  true,  it  was  somewhat  a  surprise  to 
them  to  learn  that  they  were  receiving;  pitv  from 
some  of  the  <,nrls  who  lived  in  town,  and  Frances 
considered  it  almost  an  insult  to  he  toid  that  the  city 
was  a  nicer  place  than  Forest  Home. 

"If  we  ought  to  have  a  city,  we  will  have  one. " 
she  said,  emphatically.  "It  won't  take  long  to 
show  you  how  it's  done.  You  town  people  depend 
on  others  for  your  good  times,  luit  as  mv  mother  is 
always  saying,  we  have  to  depenrl  on  our  own  re- 
sources, and  I  now  propose  that  we  set  to  work  and 
have  a  town  of  our  own." 

This  brave  speech  in  defense  of  cherished  opin- 
ions met  with  applause,  and  steps  were  immediately 
taken  to  found  a  city  at  Forest  Home. 

In  discussing  plans,  it  was  decided  almost  imme- 
diately not  to  have  any  saloons,  as  bv  leaving  this 
institution  out,  the  children  thought  to  avoid  the 
necessity  of  building  jails,  poor-houses,  and  orphan 
asylums. 

Fort  City  was  the  name  selected  for  the  citv, 
and  Mrs.  Willard  helped  name  the  streets,  the 
road  leading  in  front  of  the  house  being  named 
"Broadway,"  after  the  most  famous  street  in 
America.      The  street  that  led  nast  the  barn,  mw- 


A    PRiycESS   OF  NATURE        4. 


ynnl,  and  j^ranan ,  was  railed  "Market  Street"; 
the  ham  was  "Warehouse  of  J.  F.  Willard";  the 
cow-yard  "City  Market";  the  welh  "Citv  Foun- 
tain"; the  hen-house.  "Mrs.  Willard's  Family  Sup- 
ply Store";  the  f^runary  was  "City  Flevator";  and 
the  pij,^-pen.  "City  Stoek  Yards." 

Three  kinds  of  money  were  put  in  circulation, 
silver  an<l  ^okl  bein-;  made  of  tin,  and  yellow  leather, 
and  greenbacks  made  of  cloth  pasted  or.  paper  and 
painted  green. 

There  was  a  hotel  in  the  city,  where  Marv  served 
in  the  capacity  of  cook,  for  Frances  preferred  a 
pen  or  a  hatchet  tfi  a  frying-pan  or  dishcloth,  and 
patronised  the  hotel  m  tlie  capacity  of  some  profes- 
sional gentleman  or  tradesman. 

She  did  not  object,  however,  to  doing  editorial 
work,  and  for  a  time  served  as  editor  of  the  "Fort 
City  Tribune,"  a  three-column  journal,  containing, 
besides  news  and  poetry,  some  pen  pictures  of 
scenery  familiar  to  those  living  at  Forest  'iome, 
but  plainly  designated  to  avoid  chance  of  error. 

As  editor  of  this  paper  Frances  found  the  duties 
so  arduous  that  it  became  neccssarv  at  times  to 
take  a  short  rest,  which  she  did  by  climbing  to  the 
top  of  the  house,  where  she  walked  with  a  rake 
handle  for  a  balancing  pole;  or  by  taking  a  few- 
turns  down  the  hav-rick. 


42        //.V    UNCROWNED   rlUEEN 

OiK'  of  the  most  important  persons  in  Fort  City 
proved  to  be  the  physician. 

Mr.  Willard,  who  did  not  have  much  laith  in 
doctors,  said  he  thou<;ht  tiie  city  nii^ht  ^vt  aloni; 
better  without  than  with  one;  but  Frances  said  a 
citv  W(nil(l  not  be  a  citv  at  all  without  a  doctor 

So  she  collected  a  lot  of  spools,  whittled  them 
down  strai^lit,  |)lu,i;i,^e(l  one  end,  made  a  stojiper 
for  the  otlier,  labeled  them,  and  then  calletl 
on  her  mother  for  a  stock  of  dru^s,  which  was 
furnished  in  the  sha{)e  of  salt,  sugar,  flour,  and 
pepper. 

Marv  made  powder  papers,  and  Frances  pro- 
vided her  own  surgical  instruments,  which  were 
manufactured  expresslv  for  ourposes  not  made 
clear.  Thcv  had  wooden  handles,  however,  and 
tin  blades,  and  her  watch  was  made  of  the  same 
metal. 

When  all  had  been  prepared,  somebody  had  to 
be  sick,  and  Mary  proposing  to  be  the  accom- 
modating person,  sank  upon  a  bed  of  ner  own 
making  to  wait  for  the  physician,  who  speedily 
arrived  with  a  fine  assortment  of  spool  bottles,  tin 
knives,  and  cabbage-leaf  poultices. 

After  giving  her  a  dose  from  every  bottle,  count- 
ing her  pulse  by  the  tin  watch,  and  poulticing  her 
freely  with  cabbage  leaves,  without  any  favorable 


A    PRINCESS   OF   NATURE        4] 

results,  the  physician  solemnly  declared  that  nothing 
fi'.nher  could  be  done. 

This  was  distressing;  news,  hut  while  they  stood 
around  waiting;  for  the  end.  the  patient  rallied,  and 
hearing  her  brother  Oliver  call  the  cows,  jumped 
out  of  bed  to  go  with  him  to  the  pasture,  telling  the 
distinguished  physician  that  next  time  he  wanted  a 
patient  he  had  better  get  a  calf  or  a  cat. 


CHAPTER   V 


From  her  earliest  childhood  I'rances,  ni^.Te  tlian 
either  ot  the  other  I*"orest  Home  eliildren.  possessed 
a  keen  relish  for  stirrinj;  scenes  and  dramatic  situ- 
ations. 

This  was  seen  in  her  preterence  tor  certain 
characters  of  which  she  read  in  her  storv-hooks;  of 
her  admiration  tor  soldiers,  adventurers,  and  even 
cow-hovs;  and  in  the  selection  of  speeches  which, 
when  left  to  her  choice,  were  of  an  intensely  dra- 
matic character,  and  entered  into  hv  the  younj^ 
declaimer  with  such  spirit  that  she  could  hardly 
control  her  voice  through  the  most  affecting  line 

The  Fourth  of  Julv  afforded  an  occasion  for  an 
u.. usual  outburst  of  enthusiasm,  and  Frances,  who 
marched  in  the  parade  of  three,  telt  her  young  heart 
swell  with  patriotism  as  she  sang  "Star  Spangled 
Banner"  and  "Yankee  Doodle." 

It  is  said  that  the  only  sewing  she  ever  did  with- 
out entering  protest,  was  to  make  a  suitable  flag 
for  a  demonstration  held  in  her  own  back  yard,  which 
she  did  bv  sewing  red  stripes  and  l)lue  paper  stars 
on  an  old  pillow  case. 

To  one  of  her  venturesome  nature,  anything  like 

44 


./    PK/XCESS   OF   S.  ITU  RE        45 


:in  Indian  lit;ht  l)()^^^.•^sc(l  opi.cial  tasrinaiion,  and 
wIkmi  ()liv(.T  su!;i;fstfd  thai  tlic  c'ntiii.  tainily  \'S\\. 
Willard  excepted)  rni;a,i;e  in  ^u^il  a  tij^ht,  Frances 
fell  in  with  the  ])lan  at  once,  and  made  preparations 
accor(lin<;iy. 

She.  witli  her  mother,  Mary,  and  the  cat,  were 
to  barrie^ade  themselves  in  the  lunise,  while  Oliver, 
the  hired  man.  and  the  do^  were  to  form  the  attack- 
ing party. 

Retiring;  to  the  barn.  Oliver,  at  the  head  of  his 
company,  prepared  for  the  attack  by  donning  war 
plumage,  consisting  of  red  flannel  shirts,  caps  with 
long  featliers,  wooden  tomahawks,  and  murderous- 
looking  knives  of  the  same  material. 

Frances,  who  was  captain  of  the  company  in  the 
fort,  dressed  herself  in  an  old  coat  of  her  brother's, 
gavlv  decorated  with  gilt  epaulets,  and  armed  her- 
self with  wooden  swortl. 

In  place  of  a  tomahawk  and  .scalping-knife,  she 
had  a  weapon  of  a  different  but  fully  as  effectual 
kind,  this  being  nothing  less  than  a  garden  syringe, 
which  she  prepared  for  immediate  use  by  using 
plenty  of  cold  water  for  ammunition. 

When  all  was  ready  she  gave  out  her  orders, 
which  were  as  unusual  as  her  weapons. 

"Pump  the  milk-pail  full  of  water  and  have  the 
dipper  ready.      Lei   Maiy  keep   a  briglit   outlook. 


4'> 


.y.V    UNCROl'/Nh.n   r^UEEN 


sin.  's  iiol  to  li;;lu.  l)ut  ^lu•  can  waltli  ti)r  ilic  iiicmv 
as  Kil)LHta  (lid  uiuii  she-  In-ljicd  IvanliOL'." 

W'lu'ii  Mary  la'anl  this  order,  she  (.■xciainicd 
with  f^lti.',  "The  hooi^cr  man  will  catcli  yon  it  yon 
don't  niiiulont!"  tliinkinj;,  nodonht.  bv  this  drtad- 
tnl  threat  to  frighten  the  Indians  awav  if  thev  ha|)- 
pened  to  he  within  hearinj;  distance. 

"Let's  have  a  piece  ot  spare-rib  read\  with 
whicli  to  coax  the  doi;  awa\'  from  those  two  horrid 
Injuns."  was  the  captain's  third  command,  and 
then  she  ,i;ave  her  mother  a  broom  with  instructions 
that  she  was  to  watch  at  the  door  and  liit  the  first 
head  that  l)()l)bed  up. 

"What  (id  \i)u  propose  to  do.^"  Mrs.  Willard 
in(|uired.  when  the  orders  had  been  j^iven  out. 

"It  is  my  part  to  j;eneralissimo  the  forces, 
watch  the  back  door,  and  have  this  garden  svrintre 
ready  to  <;ive  those  red  rascals  a  shower  bath  if  they 
dare  show  their  heatls. " 

When  all  was  in  readiness,  and  tlie  company 
within  the  fort  felt  themselves  secure,  thev  waited 
the  attack  with  interest,  but  no  sight  or  sound  of 
any  redskins  rewarded  their  most  intent  listening 
or  careful  watching;  and  when  at  last  the  sheep 
began  to  bleat  and  tlie  chickens  climb  to  roost,  the 
company  under  Captain  Frances  decided  that  the 
attack  iiad  been  given  up. 


./  PRINCESS  Oh  s.rri'Rh: 


Hardly  liarl  tlu'V  rcaclK'd  tlli^  dici^ion,  liouiAii, 
wIkii  thfv  were  starlird  by  a  leartiil  "Wliooi)!" 
that   Went    up    troiii    soniewliere   <niite    near  them. 

A^aiii  it  Went,  "Whoop!  whoopi"  in  l)loo(l- 
curdHii},^  tones. 

Mrs.  Wilhird  raised  her  hrooni.  exehiiininj;. 
traj^ieallv.  "I  will  die  at  niv  post!"  while  little 
Marv  elimhed  onto  the  table  to  i;et  out  ot  the  way. 
and  iManees  loaded  her  syringe,  stilt  not  knowing 
where  the  redskins  weie. 

Then  suddenly  another  terrible  sereeeh  sounded, 
and  the  cellar  door,  almost  under  their  ieet  was 
burst  U|). 

The  eoni[)any  in  the  tort  then  imderstood  why 
the  attacking-  party  had  been  so  long.  Thev  had 
in  some  way  gained  entrance  to  the  cellar,  and  had 
been  taking  the  screws  out  ot  the  hinges. 

.\s  soon  as  the  door  llew  oi)en.  I'ido  came  bark- 
ing in.  and  Frances  tired  on  him  with  her  cold  water 
ammunition.  At  the  first  discharge,  his  barks  turned 
to  howls,  and  lie  sought  refuge  under  the  table. 

This  sudden  action  on  the  dog's  [lart  frightened 
tlie  cat.  which  in  turn  made  a  dash  for  safel\ ,  hiss- 
ing and  spitting. 

But  Frances  could  not  keep  the  invading  party 
back,  even  with  her  icy  ammunition. 

Oliver.  v\iln  face  pamted  red  and  leathers  flving, 


48 


-/A    UNCROWNED  ^lUEEN 


(laslu'd  into  the  kitchen,  and  with  a  savage  whoop, 
knocked  tlie  syringe  out  of  the  hands  of  Captain 
Frances,  and  waved  his  wooden  scalp-knife  with 
such  realistic  and  terrible  fashion  that  .Marv  added 
her  wails  to  those  of  the  cat  and  dog. 

While  Oliver  had  been  disarming  Frances,  Mrs. 
Willard  had  forced  the  hired  man  l)ack  down  cellar, 
and  Oliver  turned  to  assist  him.  No  sooner  had  he 
done  so  than  Frances  reloaded  her  syringe,  and 
pumped  water  down  his  back,  and  showered  it  over 
his  waving  feathers  until  he  was  wet  to  the  skin, 
and  ready  to  take  a  seat  by  the  fire  and  discuss  the 
adventure. 

"We  didn't  have  a  fair  chance,"  Frances 
insisted.  "Vou  came  sneaking  around.  If  \o\\ 
had  met  us  in  the  open  field  we  would  have  been  a 
match  for  you.  We  aie  not  outfought,  but  out- 
witted." 

But  more  exciting  scenes  happened  once  in  a 
while  than  Indian  fights — excitement  that  came 
from  real  danger. 

In  the  springtime  the  settlers  set  fire  to  the  long 
tangled  grass  which  covered  the  prairies,  and  some- 
times the  fire  broke  away  uncontrolled,  licking  up 
the  dry  grass,  and  spreading  from  fiekl  to  field  until 
a  wall  of  fire  went  roaring  and  racing  across  the 
prairie,  as  menacing;  as  it  was  matrnificent. 


A  PRINCESS   OF  NATURE       49 


ft  was  by  one  of  these  fires  that  Forest  Home 
itself  might  have  been  destroyed,  had  not  Mr. 
Willard  seen  the  danger  in  time  and  outwitted  the 
flames  by  backfiring. 

It  was  on  a  Sunday  morning,  when  OHver  and 
his  mother  were  at  church,  that  Mr.  Willard  dis- 
covered the  danger  when  a  thin,  red  line  in  the  dis- 
tance with  the  wind  behind  it  came  running  in  the 
direction  of  his  farm. 

Calling  the  two  girls  to  follow  him  with  pails,  he 
hurried  across  the  fields  toward  the  fire. 

The  way  across  the  fields  and  orchard  was  a 
long  one.  but  Frances,  to  whom  the  excitement  of 
fighting  a  prairie  fire  was  pleasure,  did  not  mind 
the  distance,  and  gained  the  fighting-ground  almost 
as  soon  as  her  father  did,  where  she  helped  beat 
back  the  little  flames  that  burned  about  the  edge  of 
the  spot  he  cleared. 

When  Oliver  arrived  upon  the  scene  on  his  way 
home  from  church,  he  found  his  sisters  black  with 
cinders  and  smoke,  but  the  fire  had  been  extin- 
guished and  the  home  saved. 

To  one  of  Frances'  disposition.  ;i  needle  and  a 
dishcloth  were  especially  distasteful,  and  while 
Mary  enjoyed  helping  her  mother  with  the  house- 
hold work,  Frances  did  l-r  portion  bv  tending  the 
calves  and  Inmhs  and  rhickcns,  and  by  helping  licr 


50       /JN   UNCROIVNED   l^UEEN 

father  plant  trees  and  garden  seed,  and  by  weeding 
both  her  own  and  the  family  garden. 

Once  while  weeding  onions  she  had  the  unusual 
experience  of  pulling  out  a  live  weed  that  wiggled 
and  squirmed  to  such  an  cxH^nt  that  she  dropped 
it  hastily,  when  it  proved  to  be  a  snake. 

In  the  springtime  Oliver  helped  the  hired  men, 
sometimes  taking  charge  of  the  huge  plow,  which 
was  drawn  by  eight  oxen,  and  beside  which  he 
walked  with  a  long  whip  which  he  cracked  with 
splendid  effect. 

Oftentimes  Frances  and  Mary  rode  on  this  plow 
watching  the  great  rolls  of  soft,  brown  earth  fall 
out  from  under  the  plow  point. 

Another  experience  especially  enjoyed  by  Fran- 
ces was  riding  on  the  tall  seat  of  the  reaper  beside 
her  father,  and  looking  down  at  the  sharp  teeth  as 
they  cut  the  ripe  grain.  When  this  had  been  piled 
on  wagons,  both  girls  would  climb  to  the  loftiest 
height,  and  with  faces  pressed  close  to  the  fragrant 
grain,  ride  to  the  barn. 

And  yet,  though  Frances  was  active  and  venture- 
some and  fearless,  while  she  loved  noise  and  excite- 
ment and  change,  there  were  many  times  when  she 
would  stretch  herself  on  the  grass,  and  with  her 
face  turned  toward  the  deep  blue  overhead,  "think 
her  thoughts. ' ' 


A   PRINCESS   OF  NATURE 


5' 


Sometimes  she  would  reach  her  hand  appcalingly 
toward  heaven,  and  holding  it  there,  would  say  to 
her  sister  Mary,  "See  there!  could  j'ou  resist  a 
hand  that  so  much  wmted  to  clasp  vour  own?  Of 
course  you  couldn't,  and  God  cannot  either.  I 
believe  that,  though  I  do  not  see,  he  reaches  down 
to  me." 


CHAPTER  VI 

During  licr  babyhood  and  eaily  childhood  days, 
Frances  had  Ikcii  a  very  dehcalc  and  nervous  child, 
and  it  was  not  until  after  she  had  been  given  the 
freedom  of  tlie  Western  farm  that  she  began  to 
grow  strong  and  healthful. 

This  was  in  large  measure  due  to  the  fact  that 
she  spent  the  greater  part  of  her  time  outdoors, 
running  wild  and  free  with  the  calves  and  colts  and 
lambs,  but  it  was  also  due  in  part  to  the  careful 
home  training  which  the  parents  planned  with  care 
and  intelligence. 

Mr.  Willard,  who  had  his  own  ideas  about  medi- 
cine and  phvsicians,  was  of  the  opinion  that  God 
has  onlv  about  half  a  dozen  laws  of  health,  which 
if  people  will  study  and  obcv.  w'ill  make  them 
he.'.lthy  and  happy.  His  rules  plainly  expressed 
were: 


Simple  food,  mostly  of  vegetables  and  fowls. 

Plenty  of  sleep,  with  very  early  hours  for  retiring. 

Flannel  clothing  next  to  the  skin  the  year  around. 

Feet  kept  warm,  head  cool,  and  nothing  worn  tight. 

Just  as  much  exercise  as  possible,  only  let  fresh  air  and 


,...,V„.r 


Nu  iLM  or  coffee  for  the  children. 

52 


.^   PR  IXC  ESS   OF  N  J  TURK        5,^ 

No  alcoholic  drink  or  tobacco  for  anybody. 
Tell  the  truth  and  mind  your  parents. 

These  rules  were  for  the  most  part  observed  by 
the  Forest  Home  children,  and  when  once  Oliver 
tried  what  he  thouglit  to  be  the  manly  art  of  smok- 
ing, he  found  to  his  sorrow  that  if  he  had  kept  all 
the  rules  as  outlined  by  his  father,  he  would  have 
been  happier,  for  his  first  cigar  made  him  so  sick 
he  fell  upon  the  barn  floor,  where  he  had  the  mor- 
tification of  being  found  by  his  sisters. 

Another  lorni  of  moral  law  which  made  its  im- 
pression on  the  minds  of  the  children,  was  a  pledge 
which  they  cut  from  a  storv  paper,  and  considered 
so  good  it  was  pasted  in  the  family  Bible. 

A  pledge  wc  make  no  wine  to  take, 
Nor  brandy  red  that  turns  the  head. 
Nor  fiery  rum  that  ruins  home, 
Nor  whiskey  hot  that  makes  the  sot, 
Nor  brewer's  beer,  for  that  we  fear; 
And  cider,  too,  will  never  do. 
To  quench  the  thirst  we'll  always  bring 
Cold  water  from  the  well  or  spring. 
So  here  we  pledge  perpetual  hate 
To  al!  that  can  intoxicate. 

Besides  being  taught  the  fundamental  laws  of 
health,  Mrs.  Willard  gave  the  girls  a  thorough 
training  in  gymnastics.  To  Frances,  who  preferred 
to  have  her  actions  ungovcrned  bv  any  law,  this 
exercise  was  distasteful,   but  her   mother   insisted 


54 


/IN   UNCROJVNED   ^UEEN 


that  it  was  a  necessity  if  she  expected  to  have  easy 
and  graceful  manners;  so  while  she  sang,  the  girls 
marched,  straight  as  arrows,  and  steady  enough  to 
carry  on  their  heads  a  book. 

"Lord  Chesterfield's  Letters"  were  read  aloud. 
Mrs.  Willard  at  all  times  impressing  the  children 
with  the  great  truth  that  "nice,  considerate  ways" 
are  worth  more  in  the  race  of  life  than  money. 

Thev  were  also  drilled  in  the  ceremony  of  formal 
introductions,  greatly  to  the  amusement  of  Oliver, 
who  said  he  didn't  see  the  necessity  of  knowing 
how  to  introduce  people  when  there  were  never  any 
people  to  introduce. 

His  mother's  wisdom,  however,  became  evident 
when,  on  a  subsequent  visit  to  New  York,  he 
found  his  little  sisters  from  the  Western  farm  to 
possess  as  finished  manners  as  their  city  cousins. 

But  there  was  one  thing  that  the  father  and 
mother  of  these  children  wished  for  them  more 
than  that  they  be  polite,  diligent,  or  even  healthful, 
and  that  was  that  they  should  be  good. 

Being  themselves  both  devoted  Christians,  they 
wished  their  children  to  learn  of  God  by  becoming 
accjuainted  with  Jesus,  whom  he  sent  into  the  world 
to  teach  men  the  Way  of  Eternal  Life. 

Born  into  an  atmosphere  of  religion,  taught,  as 
soon  as  she  could  lisp,  to  pray,  and  given  a  Bible 


A   PRINCESS   OF   NATURE        55 


as  one  of  her  earliest  storv-books.  yet  Frances 
almost  as  soon  as  she  was  old  enough  to  think, 
began  to  wonder,  and  in  a  wav  to  doubt. 

She  wondered  where  and  what  God  was,  and 
how  people  knew  anything  at  all  of  him;  and  when 
in  answer  to  her  questions,  she  was  told  that  the 
Bible  is  God's  book,  she  wondered  how  people 
know  it  is;  and  her  questions  were  so  persistent  and 
her  doubts  so  well  defined  that  her  mother  came  to 
think  of  her  as  her  little  unbeliever,  and  as  the 
whole  subject  of  religion  seemed  distasteful  to  her, 
her  parents  talked  little  of  their  profession,  but 
adopted  the  surer  way  of  living  lives  they  wished 
her  to  study. 

At  intervals  her  father  expressed  to  her  the  wish 
that  she  be  a  Christian,  when  she  would  say, 
"Where  is  Christ.'  I  cannot  see  him.  I  do  not 
feel  his  arms  around  me. ' ' 

Still  she  knew  he  could  not  be  far  away,  for  her 
mother  talked  to  him,  saving:  "Thou  hast  done  us 
only  good.  Thou  dost  brood  over  us  as  the  mother 
bird  broods  over  her  helpless  little  ones.  We  are 
often  tired  of  ourselves,  but  thy  heart  is  never 
weary  of  us.  Thou  hast  made  the  world  so  lovely 
that  we  might  love  it.  and  thou  art  preparing  heaven 
tor  us  every  day.  even  as  we,  bv  thy  blessed  help. 
O  Christ,  are  trying  to  learn  ils  language  and  man- 


5^ 


.'IN   UNCROIVNKD   f^UEEN 


ncrs  so  that  wc  shall  feci  at  home  when  we  reach 
heaven." 

Mr.  Willard,  who  observed  certain  rules  of  reli- 
gion with  Piiiitan  rigor,  was  especially  careful  that 
no  secular  act  be  performed  on  the  Sabbath  day. 
By  him  it  was  accounted  a  sin  to  look  in  the  dic- 
tionary for  the  meaning  oi  a  word,  to  look  at  a  book 
or  paper  other  than  one  strictly  religious,  and  the 
children  were  allowed  no  tovs  nor  to  do  any  work. 

To  a  child  of  Frances'  energetic  nature,  this 
was  an  especially  disagreeable  mandate,  and  she 
was  thankful  from  the  bottom  of  her  heart  that  her 
father  did  not  think  it  was  a  sin  to  walk  in  the  pas- 
tures and  woods  on  Sunday,  for  she  accompanied 
him  on  these  walks,  and  generally  managed  to 
enjoy  herself  in  a  religious  way,  or  otherwise, 
according  to  opini(jn. 

Sometimes,  when  their  walk  led  them  near  the 
river,  Frances  would  lag  behind  to  skip  stones, 
until  Mary,  who  marched  solemnly  behind  her 
father,  would  turn  around  and  make  a  sign  at  her 
sister  that  she  had  better  come  on. 

One  Sabbath,  while  walking  in  the  field  with 
her  father,  she  carried  her  pocket-knife,  which, 
when  he  saw,  he  said  sternlv,  "Frances,  don't  vou 
know  I  don't  allow  you  to  keep  up  your  carpenter 
work  on  Sunday ."'" 


A    PRINCESS   OF   NATURE        57 

"But,  father,"  Frances  answered,  "can't  I 
whittle  if  I  won't  lunkc  anything?"  And  loolcing 
at  it  from  this  point  of  view,  Mr.  Willard  thought 
proper  to  consent,  and  Frances  whittled  to  her 
heart's  content. 

Another  Sunday  she  longed  for  a  slate  and  pen- 
cil, and  after  studying  the  matter  some  time,  devised 
a  scheme  to  gain  her  end. 

She  did  not  ask  her  father  this  time,  but  going 
to  her  mother,  said,  "Mayn't  1  have  my  slate  if 
I'll    promise  not    to   draw   anything  but  nucting- 

llOHSi'S.'" 

"Yes,  little  girl,  you  may,"  said  her  mother, 
laughing,  "and  mamma  will  make  you  a  pattern  to 
goby." 

With  Frances,  who  loved  both  parents  dearly, 
lier  mother  was  her  favorite,  and  the  favoritism  was 
shown  in  many  ways — ways  not  always  chosen  for 
the  conifort  of  the  mother,  as  when,  on  one  occa- 
sion, after  working  hard  all  the  morning,  Mrs. 
Willard  was  surprised  almost  immediately  after 
entering  her  room  to  rest,  by  the  entrance  of 
Frances,  whose  arms  were  filled  with  papers. 

"I  came  here  to  be  alone  and  think  my  own 
thoughts,"  said  Mrs.  Willard,  thinking  the  hint 
might  prove  sufficient. 

"It  is  natural  that  I  should  want  to  be  with  my 


58 


.-IN   UXCROirXED   .'^UEFy 


mother,  and  I  intend  to  be,"  Frances  observed, 
gravely,  and  then  seated  herself  on  the  carpet, 
spread  out  her  papers,  and  proceeded  to  enjoy  the 
society  of  her  favorite  parent. 

It  was  well  for  the  happiness  of  both  mother 
and  child  that  this  close  bond  of  affection  existed, 
for  as  Frances  grew  in  years  and  knowledge,  it  took 
all  the  prayerful  tact  of  an  unusual!)  vise  mother  to 
"let  a  child  grow  as  a  tree  grows — according  to  its 
own  sweet  will,"  for  while  she  insisted  on  letting 
her  child  grow,  her  own  was  the  task  of  preparing 
conditions  adapted  both  for  the  ingrowing  of  the  good 
and  the  outgrowing  of  the  bad,  for  Frances,  like 
every  other  child,  had  evil  tendencies  to  overcome, 
chief  of  which  was  her  quick  temper. 

Her  first  impulse  on  stumping  her  toe  was 
always  to  turn  and  kick  the  projecting  obstacle.  If 
she  was  insulted  by  being  called  "tomboy"  by 
some  rude  boy,  her  impulse  was  to  strike  him,  and 
the  matter  sometimes  went  further  than  the  impulse. 
When  her  own  brother  called  her  ' '  red-head, ' '  as 
he  often  did,  she  ran  with  tears  of  hot  displeasure, 
to  tell  her  mother  on  him. 

At  such  times  rare  tact  was  shown,  and  Fran- 
ces' tears  soon  gave  way  to  smiles.  "Don't  mind 
those  boys,  Frankie, "  her  mothei  would  say,  strok- 
ing her  red   hair  tenderly,  "the  poor  things  don't 


A   PRINCESS   OF   NATURE        59 

know  what  they  arc  saying.  You  get  your  hair 
from  your  Grandfather  Hill;  his  was  quite  bright 
colored  when  he  was  little  like  you,  but  it  after- 
ward grew  into  a  beautiful  golden  brown,  and  so 
will  yours." 

Frances  was  also  sometimes  cross  to  her  sister, 
and  sometimes  pouted  when  asked  to  help  about  a 
task  she  disliked,  and  was  sometimes  disobedient, 
but  with  unfailing  patience  and  unerring  wisdom, 
her  mother  guided  her  over  the  dangerous  places 
that  wreck  many  characters. 

The  great  secret  of  Mrs.  Willard's  success  lay 
in  the  fact  that  she  was  a  possessor  of  pure  and 
undefiled  religion,  and  not  alone  a  professor,  and 
that  in  practicing  this  religion  she  held  to  the  spirit 
of  the  law  instead  of  to  the  letter. 

If  she  had  been  given  to  sermonizing,  her  influ- 
ence with  h'T  children,  Frances  at  least,  would  have 
been  lost,  and  none  knew  this  better  than  she. 
Yet,  in  a  dozen  ways  that  the  child-mind  did  not 
grasp,  foundation  truths  were  being  planted. 

Sometimes  in  the  hush  of  the  Sabbath,  under 
the  low-hanging  boughs  of  an  orchard  tree,  Mrs. 
Willard  talked  to  the  children  of  the  great  Creator, 
showing  them  His  wonderful  handiwork  in  the  tints 
of  the  flowers,  the  harmony  of  the  bird  songs,  the 
splendor  of  the  sun  and  sky,  and  the  adaptation  ot 


6o 


/IN   UNCROIFNED   }^UEEN 


each  part  of  nature  to  the  other,  ami  her  faith  was 
strong  that  -in  the  fulhiess  of  time  the  Httle  unbe- 
liever would  see  for  herself  a  vision,  and  come  to  a 
knowledge  of    he  truth. 

Even  though  she  distinctly  disliked  the  subject 
of  religion,  the  spirit  was  not  lacking  in  Francis' 
heart,  for  after  grave  consideration,  she  said,  one 
day.  to  her  sister  Mary,  whom  she  dearlv  loved: 
"Mary,  wouldn't  it  be  a  good  plar  for  us  to  ask 
each  other's  forgiveness  the  very  last  thing  before 
we  go  to  sleep  for  any  word  or  deed  that  wasn't 
just  sisterly  or  kind?"  And  as  Mary  was  heartily 
in  favor  of  the  plan,  it  was  adopted,  and  each  night 
before  going  to  sleep  words  of  forgiveness  were 
whispered  by  the  sisters,  who  thus  early,  and  per- 
haps unconsciously,  were  practicing  one  of  the 
supreme  tests  of  the  Christian  religion. 

And  so  the  play-days  of  the  children  of  Forest 
Home  passed,  the  days  and  months  lengthening 
into  links  that  in  after  years  appeared  to  those  who 
had  lived  them  the  brightest  section  in  the  mystic 
chain  that  men  call  Time. 


PART  II 


SCHOOL-DATS 


"SCIENTIA    AULTORITAS    ti^T   F.T   LABUK   VINCIT    OMNIA. 


¥ 


CHAPTER   V 


In  a  summer  garden,  bright  with  many-hued 
flowers  and  fragrant  with  their  mingled  perfume, 
Frances  Willard's  first  days  as  a  student  were 
passed,  when  she,  with  others,  stood  around  her 
mother's  knee  learning  the  forms  and  meaning  of 
the  mystical  words  her  mother  was  so  fond  of  read- 
ing, and  receiving  as  a  reward  for  her  efforts  the 
most  fragrant  pink  or  gorgeous  pansy  the  choice 
garden  beds  afforded. 

This  was  before  her  home  had  been  changed 
from  cultured  Oberlin  to  Forest  Home  on  the 
Western  prairie. 

After  the  change,  her  education,  while  not 
wholly  abandoned,  was  neglected,  owing  to  the  fact 
of  her  own  poor  health  and  her  parent's  lack  of 
time,  but  at  an  early  age  she  was  able  to  read  well, 
and  found  much  pleasure  in  reading  such  books  as 
generally  appeal  to  the  tastes  of  older  readers, 
greatly  to  the  displeasure  of  Mar>',  who  preferred 
dolls  to  books,  and  in  all  her  play  wanted  her  sister 
with  her. 

Frances'  first  lessons  in  writing  were  imitations 
of  a  copy  set  by  her  m.other.  which  she  called  "pot- 

63 


64        ^^iV    UNCROM'NED    <^UEEN 

hooks, ' '  and  it  was  not  until  she  was  nine  years  old 
that  she  made  an  attempt  to  write  her  name.  The 
effort  called  for  such  an  outlay  of  mind  force  and 
muscular  effort  that  she  never  forgot  the  occasion, 
and  years  afterward  went  sometimes  back  in  mem- 
ory to  a  winter's  night  when  the  family — children, 
servants,  and  all — sat  around  the  large,  bright 
kitchen  in  Forest  Home,  and  when  she,  moved  by 
a  sudden  inspiration,  said  to  her  mother,  "Just 
write  my  own  name  for  me  in  your  nice  hand,  and 
see  if  I  cannot  imitate  it  pretty  well." 

With  great  care  the  little  student  followed  the 
intricacies  of  the  copy,  and  when  finished,  she  gazed 
in  uninterrupted  admiration  for  some  minutes  at 
what  she  afterward  declared  to  be  one  of  the  best 
autographs  she  ever  w-rote. 

Until  she  was  twelve  years  old,  her  lessons  pro- 
ceeded in  desultor\'  fashion,  the  desirabilitv  for  an 
education  not  presenting  itself  to  her  mind  until  a 
dav  when  her  father,  himself  a  scholar,  returned 
from  Janesville,  bringing  with  him  a  handsome 
card  bearing  the  announcement  that  a  college-bred 
gentleman  would  soon  open  a  school  in  that  town. 
Around  the  edge  of  this  card  w^ere  the  Latin  words, 
"Scientia  auctoritas  est  et  labor  vincit  omnia," 
words  full  of  mystery  lo  Frances,  who  was  not 
satisfied  until  she  learned  from  her  father  that  they 


SCHOOL-DJrs 


65 


mean.  "Knowledge  is  power,  and  labor  conquers 
all  things. " 

An  unusual  impression  was  made  on  the  child's 
mind  by  these  words.  Over  and  over  she  repeated 
them  to  herself,  pondering  their  meaning,  and  as 
the  great  truth  expressed  by  them  became  clear  to 
her,  she  determined  to  attain  the  knowledge  that 
would  bring  the  power,  and  to  conquer  all  things 
by  the  force  of  her  own  efforts. 

As  time  passed.  Mrs.  Willard  became  very 
anxious  for  the  children  to  have  more  educational 
advantages  than  she.  with  her  limited  time,  was  able 
to  give ;  the  great  problem  presenting  itself  was  as 
to  where  the  children  could  attend  school,  there 
being  none  anywhere  near  Forest  Home. 

Carrying  ou:  their  favorite  play,  the  "Fort  City 
Board  of  Education,"  as  the  children  called  the 
family,  met  one  night  in  the  sitting-room,  with  Mrs. 
Willard  as  chairman,  for  the  purpose  of  devising 
plans  for  the  education  of  the  children. 

At  the  close  of  a  song  and  prayer,  which  was 
the  customary  opening  exercise  with  the  children. 
Mrs.  Willard  stated  the  object  of  the  meeting, 
after  which  Oliver  said:  "Mrs.  Chairman.  I  agree 
with  all  that  has  been  said,  and  so  well  said.  If 
we  young  folks  don't  amount  to  something  when 
we  grow  up,  it  won't  be  the  fauii  of  'mater  lumilias, ' 


66       AN   UNCROIVNED   91UEEN 

but  I  hardly  sec  wliat  we've  got  to  make  an  insti- 
tution of  learning  out  of  here  in  Fort  City.  Father 
and  mother  know  too  much  to  go  to  school,  and 
they  haven't  time  to  teach.  As  for  me,  I've 
graduated,  you  know,  from  Fort  City,  and  am  a 
Janesvillan.  Loren  is  a  helpless  case,  devoted 
to  his  traps  and  guns  and  far'-i  work.  The  girls 
have  taught  Mike  to  read  and  write,  and  that  is  all 
he  wants  to  know  of  book  learning;  Bridget 
wouldn't  be  bothered  with  even  that  much  when 
we  offered  to  teach  her ;  so  the  case  narrows  down 
to  this,  Frank  and  Mary  are  growing  up  in  heathen- 
ish darkness. ' ' 

This  remark  called  Frances  to  her  feet,  who 
protested  that  she  was  not  so  ignorant  as  her  broth- 
er's remarks  implied,  having  been  taught,  and  ziuil 
taught  by  her  mother ;  which  speech  caused  Oliver 
to  modify  his  statement  by  explaining,  "I  mean  that 
Frank  and  Mary  ought  now  to  have  advantages 
greater  than  it  is  possible  for  you,  Mrs.  Chairman, 
in  the  limited  time  at  your  disposal,  to  bestow 
upon  them.  So  I  move  we  found  an  academy  for 
their  especial  benefit." 

This  motion  met  with  instant  approval,  and 
plans  for  carrying  it  out  were  set  in  motion  by  Mrs. 
Willard.  who  secured  as  teacher  an  accomplished 
young   lady    from    ihc-    East,    who   had    recently 


<^CHOOL-DArs  67 

mov-d  onto  a  farm   not  far  distant   from   Forest 
He    J. 

Due  announcement  of  her  success  was  made  by 
Mrs.  Willard  at  a  subsequent  meeting,  when  she 
said:  "The  dearest  wish  of  my  heart,  except  that 
my  children  shall  be  Christians,  is  that  they  shall 
be  well  educated.     A  good  education  will  open  the 
world  to  you  as  a  knife  opens  an  oyster.      Riches 
will  not  do  this,  because  riches  have  no  power  to 
brighten  the  imellect.     An  ox  and  a  philosopher 
look  out  on  the  same  world,  and  perhaps  the  ox  has 
the  stronger  and  handsomer  eyes  of  the  two.  but 
the  difference  in  the  brains  behind  the  eyes  makes 
a  difference  between  the  two  beings  that  is  wider 
than  all  the  seas.      I  want  my  children's  brains  to 
be  full  of  the  best  thoughts  that  great  minds  have 
had  in  all  cei.turies;   I  want  stored  away  in  your 
little  heads  the  story  of  what  the  world  was  doing 
before  you  came-who  were  its  poets,  its  painters 
and  philosophers,   its  inventors  and  lawgivers;    I 
want  you  to  know  what  is  in  its  noblest  books,  and 
what  its  men  of  science  say  about  their  study  of  the 
earth,  the  ocean,  and  the  stars;   I  want  you  taught 
to  be  careful  and  exact  by  your  knowledge  of  fig- 
ures; and  most  of  all,  I  want  you  to  learn  how  to 
speak  and  write  your  own  noble  En,ulish  tontrue. 
for  without  power  of  expression  you  are  like  an 


68 


/JN    UNCKOirNED   ^OJJEEN 


.'I'olian  harp  when  there  is  no  breeze.  Now,  your 
father  and  I  have  assisted  you  and  taught  you  until 
OHver  has  already  a  good  start  in  school,  and  Frank 
is  twelve  years  old.  My  son  takes  highest  rank  as 
a  student,  just  as  I  expected;  my  elder  daughter 
is  devoted  to  books,  and  keeps  a  journal — which  is 
a  good  beginning ;  and  my  younger  will  follow  on 
into  all  that  I  desire,  and  already  goes  beyond  the 
others  in  artistic  taste.  I  have  the  promise  of 
bright  Miss  Burdick  that  she  will  come  and  teach 
you  during  the  summer,  and  by  that  time  I  hope 
your  father  will  have  a  school-house  in  this  district. 
But  for  the  present  we  will  fit  up  the  parlor  and  two 
little  friends  may  come  and  study  with  you." 

This  speech  was  received  with  great  pleasure, 
for  the  children  had  seen  Miss  Burdick  in  church, 
and  had  admired  her  very  much.  The  two  girls 
mentioned  by  their  mother  they  also  greatly  liked, 
though  they  had  never  been  with  them  much,  as 
the  two  farms  were  a  mile  apart. 

On  the  Monday  morning  of  a  beautiful  June 
day,  the  school  opened  with  Miss  Burdick  at  the 
teacher's  desk,  and  the  four  girls  sitting  around  a 
large  table  which  Mr.  Willard  had  fitted  with 
shelves  for  books. 

To  all  the  pupils  their  teacher  was  as  delightful 
as   they  had    exoected    she   would    be.      To  both 


SCHOOL-DJrS 


69 


Frances  and  Mary  her  soft,  brown  hair  and  wliitc 
hands  were  continual  sources  of  achiiiration.  while 
to  Frances,  whose  longing  for  an  education  was 
growing  to  a  passion,  it  did  not  seem  possible  that 
any  one  could  be  more  accomplished  than  the  fair 
young  woman  who  could  sketch,  and  paint,  and  sing. 
and  recite  with  thrilling  emphasis,  l)esides  under- 
standing the  common  branches.  Frances  was  also 
charmed  with  her  new  schoolmates.  One  of  them 
she  looked  upon  as  something  extraordinary  because 
of  the  unusually  sweet  disposition  possessed  by  her. 
Such  a  rr.arvel  was  this  child  to  Frances,  who 
was  herself  quick  tempered,  that  just  to  see  if  her 
friend  could  get  angry  she  tried  her  patience,  and 
explained  the  matter  afterward  to  her  mother. 

"I  just  stepped  on  her  toe  at  recess  to  see  if  she 
wouldn't  frown,"  she  said,  "and  sure  enough  she 
didn't." 

Besides  the  regular  branches  of  study.  Miss 
Burdick  understood  botany,  and  with  her  pupils 
took  many  pleasant  strolls  through  fields  and  woods 
in  search  of  specimens,  until  the  children  knew  the 
parts  of  a  flower  as  well  as  the  parts  of  their  own 
bodies,  and  looked  upon  them  as  some  speechless 
creatures  almost  alive. 

Mr.  Willard  was  at  this  time  one  of  the  fact- 
gatherers  for  Smithsonian  Institution  in  Washington. 


hll 


70       AN   UNCROIVNED   ^^UEEN 

and  a  portion  of  his  duty  was  to  observe  the  clouds 
and  winds,  and  make  reports  three  times  a  week  of 
same.  In  this  work  he  was  often  assisted  by  the 
girls,  who  by  this  means  learned  many  important 
lessons  that  are  the  despair  of  the  average  school- 
girl. 

The  stars  studding  the  vast,  silent  dome  that 
stretched  over  the  prairie  at  night  were  studied, 
until  the  constellations  were  known  by  heart ;  and 
while  the  children  studied  stars,  they  learned  more 
than  they  imagined  of  the  great  Creator,  who  first 
set  the  brilliant  orbs  swinging  in  their  course. 

During  the  time,  which  covered  a  period  of  two 
years,  that  the  children  attended  Miss  Burdick's 
school  in  the  parlor  of  Forest  Home.  Mr.  Willard 
with  others  had  been  building  a  new  school-house. 

The  completion  of  this  first  school  house  in  the 
district  marked  an  epoch  in  the  lives  of  the  Forest 
Home  children;  and  though  it  was  never  painted, 
either  inside  or  out.  it  was  a  real  school-house  and 
gained  distinction  as  an  institution  of  learning  from 
the  splendid  fact  that  a  live  man  teacher  from 
Oberlain  was  to  have  charge  of  it. 

"There  will  be  lots  of  rules."  said  Oliver  to  his 
sisters  the  evening  before  the  eventful  day  on  which 
the  school  was  to  open. 

"What  if  there  are  luL>  of  rules,"  said  Mary; 


SCIIOOL-DJrS 


71 


"we    shan't    break    them    the    way    college    bovs 
do." 

"No,  indeed,"  said  Frances;  "and  it  will  be  a 
pleasant  change  to  have  some  rules  and  live  up  to 
them." 

"Why,  Frankie,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Willard,  who 
had  been  listening  to  the  conversation,  "do  you 
mean  to  say  that  I  have  given  you  no  rules  all  these 
years.'" 

"Well,  you've  had  mighty  few,  mother,  I  can 
tell  you  that,"  Oliver  hastened  to  explain. 

"But  we  had  to  mind,  you  know,"  Mary  ob- 
served. 

"And  we  had  a  mind  to,'"  added  Frances. 

"That  may  be  Miss  Biddlecomb,"  said  Oliver, 
assuming  a  superior  air  and  a  favorite  expression, 
"but  when  it  comes  to  sitting  beside  your  favor- 
ite friend  and  never  speaking  a  word  for  six 
hours  a  day,  you  won't  enjoy  it.  A  girl  that  has 
played  Jehu  to  calves,  reapers,  and  plow-beams  as 
you  have,  won't  take  kindly  to  sitting  still  all  day 
either,  and  I  prophesy  there'll  be  a  riot — a  rumpus, 
a  row — before  the  month  is  out." 

"Wait  till  you  sec,"  Frances  answered,  loftilv. 
refusing  to  enter  into  further  discussion  of  the 
matter. 

The  day  on  which  school  was  to  open.  Frances 


H<-  ^ym^4 


WM 


72       /fN   CNCROM'NED  y^UEEN 


and  Mary  anise  and  dressed  lonj;  !)ctorf  rlaylight, 
even  forgetting;  the  extreme  cold  of  a  winter  day  in 
their  excitement. 

Mrs.  Willard's  valise  was  brought  downstairs 
to  he  utiHzed  as  a  school  satchel.  Two  tin  dinner 
pails  were  packed  with  bread  and  butter,  fried 
cakes  and  apples,  and  long  before  daylight  the  last 
preparation  had  been  made,  and  the  two  girls  stood 
around  waiting  for  the  minutes  to  pass,  and  won- 
dering if  it  would  ever  come  daylight  again. 

When  breakfast-time  came,  their  excitement 
had  effectually  destroyed  their  usually  good  appe- 
tites; and  long  before  school  time.  Oliver,  in 
response  to  many  earnest  entreaties,  yoked  the 
oxen  to  the  bob-sled  and  set  out  over  tlie  snowy 
road  in  the  direction  of  the  new  school-house, 
listening  to  the  excited  chatter  of  two  happy  chil- 
dren. 

On  account  of  their  early  arrival  they  found  the 
door  of  the  school-house  locked,  but  Oliver  obtained 
the  key.  built  a  fire,  and  then  went  away,  leaving 
his  sisters  to  watch  for  Professor  Hodge,  the  won- 
derful man  teacher  from  Oberlin. 

The  first  glimpse  of  him  as  he  drew  near  the 
school-house,  wearing  a  long-tailed  l)lue  coat,  liber- 
ally adorned  with  brass  buttons,  and  with  his  arms 
full  of  books,  made  a  deep  impression  on  the  minds 


^r,^^y^¥KW&mir, 


s(:if()UL-n.n's 


"1 


of  the  cl\;(irLii,  and  was  a  picture  never  to  be  for- 
gotten. 

Not  less  remarkable  was  the  sound  of  the  dinner- 
bell  that  sent  its  ringing  notes  'ait  over  the  snow 
to  call  the  children  in. 

My,  how  loud  and  clear  it  sounded  1  And  Frances 
said  to  herself.  "At  last  we  are  going  to  school  all 
by  ourselves,  Mar>'  and  I.  and  are  going  to  have 
advantages  like  other  folks,  just  -,  mother  said  we 
shouldl     O  goody,  ^t^iwdy,  (.(podv!" 

The  school  was  opened  on  the  first,  as  on  suc- 
ceeding mornings,  by  scripture  reading  and  singing, 
the  song  selected  for  the  first  morning  being 
"Jesus,  Lover  of  My  Soul,"  after  which  every 
little  head  was  bowed  while  the  teacher  reverently 
asked  God's  blessing  on  the  school  and  every 
young  heart  in  it. 

During  the  months  she  went  to  this  first  school, 
Frances  made  rapid  progress.  Following  this  she 
went  to  a  lady  teacher,  where  the  exceptionally 
good  record  she  had  started  was  continued,  and 
during  the  years  that  she  was  a  pupil  in  the  little 
brown  school-house,  she  made  the  most  of  every 
opportunity  that  came  within  her  reach,  easil\-  win- 
ning first  place  in  the  scholar's  rank  as  weii  as  in 
the  hearts  of  her  teachers  and  companions. 


CHAPTER    VI 


From  the  tinu  when  Iht  school-days  began 
beside  her  mother's  knee,  thr()Uf;h  the  years,  com- 
position, as  an  important  feature  of  an  education, 
was  l)rought  to  Frances'  attention,  and  very  early 
in  her  hfe  she  became  impressed  with  the  dignity 
of  authorship. 

With  her  usual  foresight.  Frances  determined 
that  if  she  was  to  write  she  must  have  privacy,  and 
to  this  end  she  looked  about  for  a  suitable  place  to 
be  utilized  as  an  author's  den. 

After  some  search  she  found  an  ideal  place — 
rather  odd  but  well  suited  to  her  needs. 

This  place  was  high  in  the  branches  of  a  tall 
black  oak  that  grew  near  the  front  gate.  Close  to 
a  place  where  the  limbs  made  a  comfortable  seat 
she  fastened  a  bo.x  which  she  had  prepared  as  a 
receptacle  for  pencils  and  paper,  and  to  guard 
against  intrusion,  she  painted,  in  bold,  black  letters, 
a  sign,  reading,  "Beware  of  the  Eagle's  Nest." 
wiiich  she  nailed  in  a  conspicuous  place  on  the 
body  of  the  tree,  with  great  faith  that  no  person 
after  being  thus  warned  would  attempt  to  molest 
her. 

74 


':^'7W^^Wr  'e^'^i 


SCHOOL-D.ns 


75 


Frances'  first  attempt  at  composition  was  in 
the  schoo:  Miss  Burdick  taught.  Left  to  select  her 
own  subject,  she  found  some  difiiculty.  at  last 
deciding  to  write  about  a  favorite  kitten  which  she 
had  for  weeks  been  trying  to  train  as  a  baby.  It 
took  Miss  Burdick  some  time  to  read  this  first  com- 
position, and  Frances  herself  was  not  sure  of  some 
of  the  words,  but  it  was  pronounced  by  all  who  saw 
it  good  for  a  first  attempt,  and  after  its  author  had 
become  famous,  it  was  printed,  in  its  original  form, 
in  her  book,  "GUmpscs  of  Fifty  Years." 

As  an  inducement.  Mrs.  Willard  had  given  each 
of  the  girls  a  diary  soon  after  they  learned  to  write, 
with  the  request  that  something  be  written  each 
day. 

From  these  diaries  many  extracts  have  been 
taken,  which  serve  to  make  the  reader  better 
acquainted  with  the  little  writers,  than  many  pages 
of  description. 

From  an  early  date  the  following  entr>'  in  Mar>''s 
diary  gives  a  glimpse  of  a  happy  play-day:  "Frank 
said  we  might  just  as  well  have  a  ship,  if  we  did 
live  on  shore.  So  we  took  a  hen-coop,  pointed  at 
the  top,  put  a  big  plank  across  it,  and  stood  up. 
one  at  each  end.  with  an  old  rake  handle  apiece  to 
steer  with.  Up  and  down  we  went,  slow  when  it 
was  calm  sea,  and  fast  when  there  was  a  storm,  till 


76       ^.V   UNCROWNED   .^UEEN 


the  ulil  lien  clucked  and  the  chickens  all  ran  in  and 
had  a  lively  time.  Frank  was  captain  and  I  was 
mate.  We  made  charts  of  the  sea  and  rules  about 
how  to  navif;ate  when  it  was  good  weai'.er.  and 
how  when  it  was  bad.  Wc  put  up  a  sail,  made  of 
an  old   sheet,  and  had  great  fun  till   I  fell  off  and 

hurt  me To-day  Frank  gave  me  half  her 

dog  Frisk,  and  for  pay  I  made  a  promise  that  I 
would  never  touch  a  thing  on  Frank  Willard's  desk, 
nor  never  go  near  it." 

From  Frances'  diary  the  following  description 
of  a  holiday  is  taken:  "I  once  thought  I  would  like 
to  l)e  Queen  Victoria's  maid  of  honor;  then  I 
wanted  to  go  to  Cuba;  next  1  made  up  my  mind 
that  I  would  be  an  artist;  next  that  I  would  be  a 
mighty  hunter  of  the  prairies ;  but  now  I  suppose 
I  am  to  be  a  music  teacher,  'simply  that  and  noth- 
ing more.'  ....  When  it  rained  and  filled  the 
stove  so  full  of  water,  standing  right  out  on  the 
ground,  that  mother  couldn't  even  boil  the  kettle 
for  tea,  we  didn't  think  it  was  ver)'  funny.  ISIother 
hadn't  any  money  to  get  us  Christmas  presents; 
fatiier  was  sick  in  bed  with  ague;  and  yet  we  hung 
up  our  stockings,  and  Oliver  put  his  boot-strap  over 
the  front  door  knob.  So  mother  stirred  around 
and  got  two  false  curls  she  used  to  wear  when  it 
was  the  fashion  to  wear  them  on  a  comb,  and  put 


■ua-'4St7/-^Wi$yaii:^a&n^^m 


SCHOOL-  '-ITS 


77 


one  in  my  stocking  and  one  in  Mary's,  with  little 
sea-shells  that  she  had  kept  for  many  years,  also 
an  artificial  flower  apiece;  to  Oliver  she  gave  a 
shell  and 'Pollock's  Course  of  Time.'  We  hadn't 
a  hired  man,  and  mother  and  Ollie  went  out  in  the 
woods  and  draj,ged  in  branches  of  trees  to  burn. 
We  girls  thought  it  great  fun,  but  father  called  it 
his  'Blue  Christmas.'  " 

But  neither  compositions  nor  diary  writing  satis- 
fied the  ambitious  desire  of  Frances.  She  longed 
to  be  the  author  of  an  entire  book — something  in- 
tensely stirring  and  exciting. 

With  the  burning  desire  of  making  herself 
famous  in  this  field  she  began  a  great  novel,  en- 
titled, "Rupert  Melville  and  His  Comrades;  a 
Story  of  Adventure. " 

High  on  her  perch  in  the  black  oak  Frances 
wrote  on  this  story,  much  to  the  amusement  of 
Oliver,  who  declared  there  were  so  many  characters 
in  it  that  he  didn't  see  for  his  life  how  she  could 
kill  them  all  off  inside  a  thousand  pages. 

The  thousand  pages  were,  however,  never  writ- 
ten. Before  the  great  story  reached  a  climax,  the 
young  writer  decided  to  try  poetry,  which  she  did 
with  remarkable  success  for  one  so  young. 

The  occasion  for  one  of  her  first  poetical  ven- 
tures was  when  "Old   Blackie,"  a  favorite  tree. 


it: 


78       AN   UNCROIVNED  ^UEEN 


which   had   been   injured    in    a   storm,    was    cut 
down. 

Affected  almost  to  tears  by  what  seemed  little 
less  than  a  tragedy,  she  wrote: 

TO    AN   OAK 

RECENTLY  FELLED  AT  FOREST  HOME 

And  so,  old  Monarch  of  the  Forest,  thou  hast  fallen! 

Supinely  on  the  ground  thy  giant  limbs  are  laid; 

No  more  thou'll  rear  aloft  thy  kindly  head; 

No  more  at  eventide  the  chirping  jay 

Shall  seek  a  shelter  'mid  thy  boughs  or  'mong  them  play. 

No  more  the  evening  breeze  shall  through  thy  branches  sigh, 

For  thou  art  dead.     Ah,  e'en  to  thee 

How  fearful  'twas  to  die! 

Perhaps,    ages     ago— for    'mong    the     centuries    thou    hast 

grown  on — 
Some  swarthy  warrior  of  a  race  long  past, 
Some  giant  chieftain  of  an  early  day, 
Beneath  thy  shad.-  has  rested  from  the  chase, 
And  to  thy  gnarled  trunk  told  some  wild  revenge, 
Or  gentle  tale  of  love. 
And  in  the  dusk  of  the  primeval  times 
Some  fair  young  maid,  perchance,  to  thee  complained 
Of  vows  unkept;  or,  in  a  happier  mood, 
With  smile  as  innocent  as  e'er  maid  wore. 
Has  told  to  thee  some  simple  happiness. 
Scarce  worth  the  telling,  save  that  in  her  path, 
Joys  were  the  flowers  that  by  the  weeds  of  care 
Were  overwhelmed. 

Around  thy  base  the  forest  children  played 
In  days  long  passed  away,  and  flowing  now 
In  the  dark  Riv.T  of  Eternity. 

The  years  but  lately  gone  were  waiting  then  to  be; 
Time  quickly  sped,  these  years  that  were  to  be 


SCHOOL-DJTS 


79 


Came,  hastened  by,  and  are  no  more;  with  ihem, 

Well  pleased  to  po,  my  childish  hours  fled  trait'rously. 

Bearing  to  Shadeland  holiot  memories. 

Telling  of  busy  feet  and  happy  heart. 

Delighted  eyes,  and  all  the  unnumbered  joys 

Given  us  but  once— in  Childhood. 

Glorious  were  mine,  old  Tree; 

Birds,  have  sung  for  me;  flowers  bright  have  bloomed 

That  had  not,  had  I  ne'er  been  born  to  greet  their  beauty. 

Skies  wore  their  loveliest  hues  for  me 

Just  as  they  do  in  turn  for  all  that  live; 

.^  nd  as  they  will  for  happy  hearts  to  come. 

E'en  when  the  tiny  nut  that  held  thee  first, 

Dropt  quietly  into  the  rich,  dark  soil, 

'Twas  in  the  plan  of  the  great  God  of  all, 

That  thy  bright  leaves,  thy  green  crest  lifted  high. 

Thy  sturdy  trunk,  and  all  thy  noble  form 

Should  be,  some  day  far  distant,  loved  by  me; 

Should  cause  my  eyes  with  joy  to  rest  on  thee, 

And  so  increase  earth's  gifts  of  God  to  me. 

Thou  hast  given  this  race  to  many,  thou  hast  granted  it  to  me. 

But  none,  perhaps,  besides  me  shall  extol  thy  memory. 

Stern  Death,  remorseless  enemy,  spares  nothing  that  we  love; 
Upon  the  cold,  white  snow  to-night,  lie  boughs  that  waved 

above ; 
And  I'm  lonely,  sad,  and  silent,  for  I  feel  a  friend  is  gone. 
As  'mong  the  great,  dead  boughs  to-ni{jht 
I  hear  the  strange  wind  moan. 

Old  Tree,  hast  thou  a  spirit.'     If  so,  we'll  meet  again! 
I  shall  not  give  thee  up  yet,  for  I'll  meet  thee.  Yonder— «■//<'« 
Perchance  thy  leaves,  etherialized,  above  me  yet  shall  wave 
When  to  bright  Paradise  I  come,  up  from  the  gloomy  grave! 
So,  in  this  wistful,  hopeful,  tone 
Farewell,  old  King  of  Forest  Home. 

In  the  course  of  her  career  as  a  writer.  Fr^nces 
was  impressed  with  the  legitimate  desire  of  seeing 


8o        ,1N    UNCROIVNU.D   ^^EEN 


something  from  her  pen  in  print,  and  without  say- 
ing anytliing  of  her  plan  to  any  of  the  family,  she 
j)rei)are(l  an  article  which  she  sent  by  Mike,  the 
hired  man,  to  the  editor  of  a  paper  published  in 
Janesville. 

To  this  article,  entitled  "Rustic  Musings,"  she 
signed  the  name  "Zoe,"  and  after  dispatching  it, 
waited  impatiently  for  it  to  appear  in  print. 

She  was  never  rewarded  in  this  wav  however, 
but  the  next  week  the  editor  had  something  to  say 
regarding  "Rustic  Musings,"  one  thing  being  that 
he  did  not  think  a  woman  wrote  it,  in  support 
of  which  opinion  he  quoted  the  phrase,  "Ex  pede 
Herculum." 

Not  knowing  what  this  meant,  Frances  inquired 
of  her  father,  who  told  her  its  translation  was, 
"Hercules  is  known  by  his  foot." 

As  this  translation  in  no  way  helped  solve  the 
myster}',  Frances  sought  counsel  of  her  mother, 
telling  her  of  her  venture.  Mrs.  Willard  explained 
that  the  editor  thought  the  article  had  been  written 
by  a  man  because  of  the  close  resemblance  between 
the  handwriting  of  Frances  and  her  father,  whose 
signature  was  stronglv  masculine. 

Not  discouraged  by  this  failure  to  secure  recog- 
nition, and  very  desirous  of  seeing  her  own  name 
in   print.    Frances   set  out    one    dav  horseback   to 


\    < 


'« 


SC//OOL-D./)S 


8i 


secure  siihscril)crs  for  a  little  paper  which  promised, 
as  reward  for  services  rendered,  to  print  the  names 
of  every  boy  and  girl  who  sent  in  subscribers. 

When  her  name  finally  appeared.  Frances  was 
indignant  to  find  that  in  spelling  it  an  "i"  had  been 
used  where  an  "e"  should  have  appeared. 

"The  first  editor  said  I  wrote  like  a  man."  she 
exclaimed,  in  disgust,  "and  the  second  has  spelled 
my  name  like  a  boy's.  I  guess  they  think  a  gir! 
can't  come  to  anything  in  this  world  anyhow." 

Still  she  did  not  give  up.  but  with  firm  faith  in 
her  own  ability  to  push  her  way  to  final  success, 
she  tried  again,  this  time  writing  a  composition  on 
the  subject,  "Falling  Leaves." 

"See  who  can  write  the  best  composition  in 
twenty  minutes."  Mrs.  Willard  said  one  night,  as 
the  family  sat  around  the  table,  and  at  the  end  of 
the  twenty  minutes  Frances  read:  "An  autumn 
zephyr  came  sighing  through  the  branches  of  a 
noble  elm.  which  stood  like  a  protecting  giant  over 
my  cottage  home.  It  shook,  half  regretfully  I 
thought,  one  tiny  bough;  and  down  through  the 
gnarled  branches  of  the  grand  old  tree  fell  one, 
two,  three,  dark  crimson  leaves.  The  sight,  though 
insignificant,  was  a  sad  one  to  me  then.  It  re- 
minded me  of  the  similitude  existing  between 
leaves   and    mortals.      Both   wake   to    being   in    a 


82        JN    UNCROIVNF.D    I^'IUKEN 


the 

sa 


bright,    beautiful   woikl;   both   live  tlicir  appointed 
season,  enjoy  their  alloted  share  of  happiness,  die 
their  inevitable   death,    and   arc,    alike,    forgotten. 
This  is  the  epitome,  the  simple  story  of  everything 
that  ever  existed,  save  the   Eternal  God.      We  all 
begin  life  with  bright  hopes  and  eager  expectancy. 
In  time  we  leave  the  stage  of  action  with  one  con- 
viction—that all  is  vanity. .    We  all  build  splendid 
air  castles;  alas!  how  often  have  we  seen  the  antici 
pated  con-    nimationof  the  cherished  plans  of  some 
iddenly  dashed   to  the  ground,  and 
uiiion  of  those  gay  dreams  we  have 
hearse  move  slowly  on.  as  if  rcluc- 
young,  unwearied  form  to  that 
V"  ag<    and  sorrow  render  sweet  to 
■f  hop.   and  joy  and  happiness  for 
ation      is  passed  away.     We  have 
pes      id  fears;   joys  and  sorrows; 
T        _•  feelings  we  may  not  if  we 
ving  thing.      They  are  our 
An.     We  go  on  through  life. 
ih-        illiancy  of   youth;  our  frames 
cease  to  be  erect  ami  powerful;   our  steps  become 
slow  and  spiritless;   our  intellects  lose  their  vigor. 
Yet  we  cling  still  fondly  to  our  cherished  schemes, 
we  hope  that  r*r.  at  least,  notwithstanding  the  thou- 
sands that  have  been  unfortunate,  mav  be  success- 


bright  1) 
instead  < 
seen  'Tli 
tantly  it 

cold    C(H1( 

man';  an  a 
th.  juerl  >s 
ou,  i!>d''  idur 
loves  !  hat 
woul(.  part 
own.  p<.vuliar 
Our  eves  los' 


n-.     ^-'MztH^^.'i., 


SCHOOL-DATS 


83 


ful.      Still   wc   plan   and    endeavor.     We  become 
older,    feebler,    sadder.      Still   we   try.      The  cold 
autumn  of  our  lives  sets  in.      We  tremble  before 
its  relentless  power.      Vet  we   hope  on.      Colder 
grow  the  nights,  more  cheerless  the  days.      Death, 
like  a  zephyr,   though  not  unwillingly  nor  sadly,' 
sweeps   with    icy  breath    across    the   now  tender,' 
yielding  cord  of  our  lives;  he  snaps  it  rudely,  and 
we    launch  forth  into  the  vast,  unfathomable  un- 
known.     How  like  our  fate  to  that  of  the  falling 
leaves!      Sad,     mournful,      dirgelike,      everything 
seems  murmurin,    'Falling  Leaves.'  " 

Mrs.  Willard  considered  this  composition  pos- 
sessed of  much  merit  for  so  young  a  writer,  and 
suggested  that  it  be  sent  to  a  newspaper,  which 
was  done,  and  Frances  had  the  unusual  pleasure 
of  seeing  it  in  print  the  next  week. 

But  even  yet  she  had  not  attained  the  height  of 
success  as  a  juvenile  author.  Her  greatest  achieve- 
ment in  this  line  was  attained  when,  in  answer  to 
an  offer  made  l)y  the  Illinois  Agricultural  Soc  iety 
for  an  essay  on  the  "Embellishment  of  a  Coumry 
Home."  she  wrote  the  winning  essay,  taking  her 
own  home  as  a  subject. 

After  waiting  many  weeks  to  hear  from  this 
essay,  she  was  at  last  rewarded  by  receiving  through 
the   mail    a    mysterious   box,    which    upon    being 


84       /IN    UNCKOH'NED   ^-VUEEN 


()jK-nc(l,  was  foiiiid  to  contain  a  silver  medal  with 
her  name  and  the  words.  "First  Prize."  There 
was  also  a  handsome  cup  in  the  box.  and  a  note  of 
conf^ratulation.  in  which  the  opinion  was  expressed 
that  the  writer  of  the  prize  essay  was  possessed  of 
much  ability  for  one  so  young. 

The  receipt  of  this  prize  and  note  of  conp^ratu- 
lation  threw  Frances  into  wild  joy,  and  she  ran 
through  the  house  shouting  "Hurrah!  hurrah!" 
until  the  dog  barked,  the  hired  man  laughed,  and 
evrn  Oliver,  who  tried  in  the  beginning  to  look  as 
though  it  were  an  every-day  occurrence,  found  him- 
self shouting:  and  no  triumph  that  came  in  the 
after  vears.  when  by  her  pen  and  voice  Frances 
had  become  famous  in  two  continents,  ever  gave 
her  the  keen  pleasure  that  she  experienced  on  this 
occasion. 


•:3^»rv 


CHAPTER    Vll 


Until  her  eighteenth  birthday  Frances  was 
allowed  to  be  a  child. 

No  overplus  of  lengthy  skirts  impaired  the  free- 
dom of  her  movements,  and  no  uncomfortable  style 
of  hair  dressing  worried  her  peace  of  mind.  Her 
education  had  been  allowed  to  develop  along  natural 
lines  as  much  as  possible,  and  she  had  been  taught 
implicit  obedience,  according  to  a  strict  firm  law  by 
her  father,  and  by  her  mother's  milder  method  of 
loving  persuasion.  Some  of  her  father's  disiipline 
had  been  very  disagreeable  to  hti,  her  will  manv 
times  coming  in  conflict  with  his,  and  giving  way 
only  as  an  act  of  duty,  so  that  her  coming  of  age 
was  termed  by  her  a  ' '  freedom  day. ' ' 

Celebrating  her  eighteenth  birthdav  as  the  day  of 
her  freedom,  she  j)enned  her  sentiments  in  a  poem, 
entitled,  "I  Am  Eighteen." 

The  last  year  is  passed; 

The  last  month,  week,  day,  hour,  and  tnoment. 

For  eif^hteen  years,  (|uelling  all  thoughts 

And  wishes  of  my  own, 

I've  been  obedient  to  the  powers  that  were. 

Not  that  the  yoke  was  heavy  to  be  borne. 

And  grievous. 

Do  I  glorv  that  'tis  removed— 

^5 


86       AN   UNCROWNED   ^-^UEEN 


For  lij,'hter  ne'er  did  parents  fond 

Impose  on  child. 

It  was  a  si/',',  r  chain. 

But  the  bright  .idjcctive 

Takes  n')t  away  the  i /an ling  sound 

That  follows  it. 

There  is  a  God  — an  uncreated  Lifu 

That  flwells  in  mystery. 

Him,  as  a  part  of  his  vast,  boundless  self 

I  worship,  scorninj,'  not,  nor  yd  reluctantly 

Payinj;  my  vows  to  the  Most  High. 

And  this  command,  by  Him  imposed, 

"Children  obey  your  parents," 

I  receive  and  honor,  for  He  says, 

"Obey  Ihcm  in  the  Lord," 

And  he    .  Lord  and  God ! 

But  now,  having  thro'  waitings  long, 

And  hopinfjs  manifold. 

Arrived  here  at  the  limit  of  minority, 

I  bid  it  now,  and  evermore,  adieu, 

And,  sinful  though  it  may  be. 

Weep  not  nor  sigh. 

As  it  fades  with  the  night. 


The  clock  has  struck! 

O!  heaven  and  earth,  I'm  free! 

And  here,  beneath  the  watching  stars,  I  feel 

New  inspiration.     Breathing  from  afar 

And  resting  on  my  spirit  as  it  ne'er 

Could  rest  before,  comes  joy  profound. 

And  now  I  feel  that  I'm  alone  and  free 

To  worship  and  obey  Jehovah  only. 

Glorious  thought!     Maker  and  made, 

Creator  and  created, 

With  no  bonds  intervening! 

One  free,  to  worship  and  obedience  pay, 

The  other  on  his  heaven-spanning  throne. 


..-?L.-*^iA 


Ml 


SCIIOOL-D.n'S 


87 


DeiKninR  to  receive  the  honi.ii;',-  cf  Mis  child, 

God  will  I  worship  then,  henceforth. 

And  evermore ; 

At  ni>,'ht,  and  men  and  angols  sleep 

While  I  adore. 

After  thus  (leciaiiiiK  li«-'r  freedom.  Frances  sat 
down  to  read  "Ivanhoe."  a  book  forbidden  bv  her 
father. 

Deep  in  the  pleasures  of  the  story  she  was  inter- 
rupted by  her  father's  voice,  who  stood  u()on  the 
steps  gazing  at  her  in  astonishment. 

"What  have  you.'"  he  inquired,  sternly. 

"One  of  Scott's  novels."  she  answered. 

"Have  I  not  forbidden  you  to  renrl  novels?" 
"You  have;  and  in  the  main  I've  kept  faith  with 
you  in  this;  but  you  forget  what  day  it  is." 

"What  day.  indeed!  I  shoukl  like  to  know  if 
the  day  has  anything  to  do  with  the  deed!" 

"Indeed  it  has— I  am  eighteen— I  am  of  age 

I  am  now  to  cL  what  /  think  right;  I  am  to  obey 
God's  law  alone;  and  tj  read  this  fine  historical 
story  is,  in  my  opinion,  a  right  thing  for  me  to  do.  * 

For  a  moment  Mr.  Willard  stood  speechless, 
almost  doubtinr^  his  own  ears,  then  he  lauglx'd.  and 
calling  Mrs.  Willard,  said.  "S'.c  is  evidently  a 
chip  of  the  Puritan  block";  and  to  her  he  said, 
"Well,  we  will  try  to  learn  God  s  laws  and  obey 
them  together,  my  child." 


'-':;  ^  .••Mf^?*fo-' "■■    ':  f*-  ^  '*^  * 


MtiMafei 


MICROCOPY    RESOLUTION    TEST    CHART 

ANSI  find   ISO   TEST  CHAPT   Nc     2 


1.0 


IM    IIIII15_ 


m 

m 

;;3  6 


m  mil  2.2 


I.I 


2.0 


.8 


1.25 


1.4 


1.6 


^     .APPLIED   irv'i^GE     Ir 


ss 


.ViV    U  NCR  Of  FN  ED   }O^UEEiV 


But  if  her  eighteenth  birthday  brought  freedom 
in   one  vvav.  Hke  every  sweet  i*  had   its  bitter,  and 
to  Frances  tliis  bitter  was  so  real  and  disagreeable 
that  she  also  referred  tc;  her  eighteenth  birthday  as 
the   day  of   her  "martyrdom.  ■•  and   wrote  of  it   in 
her  diary:    "This   is  my  birtlulay.  and   the  date  of 
my  martyrdom.      Mother  insists  that  at  last  I  j;i/ts/ 
have  my  hair 'done  up   in  woman   fashion.'     She- 
says   she  can   hardly  forgive   herselt   for  letting  me 
run  wild  so  long.      We've  had  a  great  time  over  it 
all.  and  here   I   sit  like  another  Samson  'shorn  of 
my  strength.'     That  figure  won't  do  though,  for 
the  greatest  trouble  with,  me  is,  that   I  shall  never 
be  shorn  again.      My  'back'  hair  is  twisted  up  like 
a  cork-screw;    I   carry  eighteen  hairpins;   my  head 
aches  miserably;   my  feet  are  entangled  in  the  skirt 
of  my  hateful  new  gown.      I  can  never  jump  over 
a  fence  again  so  long  as  I  live.      As  for  chasing  the 
sheep,  down  in  the  shady  pasture,  it's  out  of  the 
question,  and  to  climb  to  my  'Eagle's  nest'  seat  in 
the  big  burr-oak  woukl  ruin  this  new  frock  beyond 
repair,      .\ltogether  I   recognize  the  fact  that  my 
'occupation's  gone.'  " 

Another  circumstance  that  served  to  stir  her 
independent  young  spirit  into  a  mighty  state  of 
unrest  is  recorded  as  follows:  "This  is  election 
day,  and  my  brother  is  twenty-one  vears  old.     How 


SCHOOI.-Djrs 


89 


proud  he  seemed  as  he  dressefl  up  in  his  best  Sun- 
day clothes  and  drove  off   in  the  h\<:;  wa^on  with 
father  and  the  hired  man  to  vote  for  John  C.  Fre- 
mont, like  the  sensible  Frce-soiler  that  he  is.      My 
sister  and   I   stood  at  tlie  window  and   looked  out 
after  them.     Somehow  I  felt  a  lump  in  my  throat, 
and  then   I   couldn't   see   their  wagon   any  more, 
things  got  so  blurred.      I  turned  to  Mary,  and  she, 
dear  little  innocent,  seemed  wonderfully  sober,  too. 
I    said,    'Wouldn't    you    like    to  vote  as   well   as 
Oliver.'     Don't  you  and   I  love  the  country  just  as 
well  as  he,  and  doesn't  the  country  need  our  bal- 
lots.'*     Then  she  looked  scared,  but  answered  in  a 
minute,  'Course  we  do,  and  course  we  ought,  but 
don't  you  go  ahead  and  say  so,  for  then  we  would 
be  called  strong-minded.'  " 

For  a  time  after  learning  that  she  was  not  to  be 
counted  in  the  land  of  her  birth  as  a  citizen,  and 
that  even  her  bodily  freedom  must  be  restricted 
because  she  happened  to  be  born  a  woman,  Fran  cs 
felt  so  miserable  that  she  thought  she  would  run 
away,  and  made  plans  to  seek  freedom  Oii  the 
Western  plains  or  somewhere  else,  it  mattered  not 
to  her. 

These  plans  were  never  carried  out,  however. 
On  the  other  hand,  she  told  her  grievance  to  her 
wise  mother,  who  said.  "You  must  go  to  school. 


90       AN   UN  CROWN  KB    <^L/EEN 


my  child.  Your  mind  is  active;  you  are  fond  of 
books  and  thoughts,  as  well  as  of  outdoors;  \vs 
must  provide  them  for  you  to  make  up  for  the  loss 
of  your  girlish  good  times." 

Accordingly,  preparations  were  made  to  send 
both  girls  to  the  Milwaukee  Female  College,  in 
which  Mrs.  Willard's  youngest  sister  was  a 
teacher. 

To  one  like  Frances,  who  had  long  felt  the  latent 
power  of  dawning  womanhood,  the  opportunity 
offered  by  a  year's  study  in  this  college  was  con- 
sidered almost  a  sacred  privilege,  and  in  her  efforts 
to  make  the  most  of  it  she  studied  with  such  dili- 
gence that  her  teachers  feared  for  her  health. 

Her  journal  of  the  last  day  reads:  "Terrible 
times  preparing  for  examination.  I  have  studied 
hard,  and  ought  to  do  well.  How  will  it  be?  I 
pause  for  a  reply.  Practiced  reading  my  compo- 
sition on  the  rostrum,  reviewed  my  histor)-.  geology. 
and  botany  for  examination;  meltingly  warm;  all 
the  seats  are  taken  out  of  the  school-room.  Father 
and  mother  came  and  stayed  a  few  moments,  and 
then  went  out  to  Mr.  Clifford's.  Later— Nice 
times  thus  far;  have  recited  botanv,  geology,  and 
history.  Father  only  heard  me  in  histor\-;  mother 
in  ever)'thing. ' ' 

The   title   of   her   commencement   essay   was. 


SCHOOL-DJTS 


9« 


"Originality  of  Thought  and  Action,"  and  the 
composition  did  her  great  credit.  A  poem  of  her 
writing  was  also  read  by  a  leading  pupil,  which  she 
had  written  on  a  summer  evening,  as  she  sat  by  her 
window  and  watched  the  stream  of  people  wending 
their  way  homeward  in  every  direction. 

Sitting  by  my  window, 

On  a  summer  eve, 
List'ning  to  the  billow 

List'ning  to  the  breeze; 
Dark  the  shadows  falling, 

Bright  the  stars  and  clear, 
Men  have  ceased  their  toiling, 

To  their  homes  draw  near; 
Hear  the  drowsy  beating 

Of  the  city's  heart, 
As  the  hours  are  fleeting. 

And  'tis  growing  dark. 

See!  a  light  is  gleaming 

Down  the  fading  street ! , 
Ah!  'tis  brighter  beaming, 

Guiding  weary  feet. 
Wake  from  out  thy  dreaming! 

Wander  not  away! 
Soul  of  mine,  what  seeming 

For  this  night  of  May. 
Let  the  light  now  shinin;^-, 

Glist'ning  through  the  gloom 
'Round  thee  gently  twining 

Cause  thee  not  to  roam. 

Forest  Home  had  been  the  sacred  spot  which 
was  to  remain  forever  in  her  memorv  as  the  place 


92        yiN    VNCROIVNF.D   .'^UEEN 


when.'  as  a  child  she  "dreamed  her  dream  of 
dreams,"  yet  after  her  first  year  away  from  the  old 
home,  Frances  hated  to  return,  and  made  note  of 
the  fact  in  her  diary:  "Left  the  city  at  half-past  ten. 
Felt  fully  as  bad  as  when  I  left  home,  even  worse. ' ' 


CHAPTER  Fill 

Frances  left  Milwaukee  at  the  close  of  her  first 
year  in  college  firml\  convinced  that  there  could  lie 
no  other  school  (|uite  so  good,  and  she  was  much 
disappointed  when  it  was  decided  that  she  could 
not  return. 

During  the  vacation  following,  a  cousin  who 
visited  at  Forest  Home  talked  so  enthusiastically 
of  the  Xorthwestern  Female  College,  a  new  school 
at  Evanston,  that  the  VVillard  family  became  much 
interested,  and  at  length  influenced  Mr.  Willard  to 
make  a  visit  to  Evanston  for  the  purpose  of  looking 
into  the  advantages  offered  by  Northwestern  Col- 
lege. 

Being  convinced  of  the  superior  advantages 
offered  by  this  school,  partly  influenced  by  the  fact 
that  it  was  under  control  of  the  Methodist  church,  of 
which  he  was  a  loyal  member,  Mr.  Willard  returned 
to  Forest  Home  with  a  favorable  report,  which 
caused  a  shout  of  jov  from  both  girls. 

Northwestern  Female  College  was  to  be  their 
"alma  mater";  and  as  Frances  said,  "The  spell 
was  broken,  the  great  world  voices  charmed  our 
\uuthful  ear,  so  long  contented  with   the  song  ot 

93 


94       ^N   UNCROIVNED   ^^UEEN 


zephyrs  anion-;  the  tasseled  com.  or  winds  in  the  tall 
tree-tops  that  sheltered  our  sacred  ultar  fires." 

Except   for  Ijriet   visits  to  the  old  home  their 
country  Hie  was  ended.      A  last  walk  was  taken  in 
the    shady   pasture   where    the   birds   sang   in   the 
thickets  and  cow- bells  tinkled  drowsily;  the  sisters 
sat  a  last  time  beside  the  gently  flowing,  calm  blue 
river  which  had  many  times  washed  their  feet,  and 
rij^pled  against  their  chubby  hands  as  they  caught 
minnows    for  the    aquarium;    they   picked    a    last 
bouquet  in  the  fragrant  garden;  they  listened  a  last 
time  to  the  soothing  music  of  the  leaves  brushing 
against  the  old  home  roof;  to  one  another  they  said 
"forgive  me"  a  last   time   in  the  little  room  they 
loved  so  well,  and  went  to  sleep  to  wake  up  on  the 
morning  cf  the  day  when  they  were  to  say  farewell 
to  Forest  Home. 


With  the  natural  curiosity  of  the  average  school- 
girl, the  students  already  gathered  at  the  College 
waited  the  coming  of  the  two  new  girls  from  Wis- 
consin, and  the  first  day  that  Frances  and  Mary 
attended  school  they  were  closely  scrutinized  by 
scores  of  eager  eyes. 

From  an  artistic  standpoint  the  students  found 
the  two  new  girls  entirely  satisfactory.  Mar\'.  though 
younger   than    her    sister,    was    much    taller,    and 


SCHOOL-DATS 


05 


very  graceful,   but    sIk-   was    by   no  means    n.      • 
attractive. 

Durin^r  the  years  she  had  been  prowin^  on  the 
Western  farm.  Fra.ices  had  chan^r^cl  much.  Her 
I'rioht  red  hair  had  turned  koUK  n  brown,  as  her 
mother  had.  by  way  of  consolation  often  told  her  it 
would  some  day  do.  Her  eyes  were  blue  like  the 
June  sky,  holding  in  their  liohts  the  sunshine  and 
freedom  of  the  life  she  had  lived.  Besides  the 
attractive  expression  of  her  face,  she  had  what  all 
girls  admire— shapely  hands  and  feet. 

The  question  of  appearance  being  decided,  the 
more  important  part  remained  of  judging  their 
ability  as  scholars. 

Of  Mary  little  was  said,  though  she  was  always 
a  patient  and  thorough  scholar,  but  Frances'  bril- 
liancy won  the  admiration  of  both  scholars  and 
teachers  from  the  beginning. 

"My.  but  can't  the  new  girl  recite!"  "She 
beats  us  all!"  were  remarks  heard  at  the  close  of 
ihe  first  day's  recitations. 

As  she  became  better  known  to  her  companions, 
they  discovered  that  while  Frances  was  kind  and 
generous  in  unusual  degree,  there  came  a  time 
when  she  thought  patience  ceased  to  be  a  virtue, 
when  it  became  necessary  for  her  to  "stand  up  for 
her  rights, ' ' 


(/, 


//.v  iNCRou'M.i)  !:ii'/':i':x 


The  ]ii^\  time  she  ewr  ititoired  licr  disapproval 
of  an  insult  witli  a  blow  was  (hirin<;  her  first  y«-'arat 
Evanstnn.  and  tlie  affair  all  took  place  over  a  red 
yarn  hood. 

Mr.  Willard.  as  his  purchases  in  this  case 
proved,  was  not  an  infallible  artist,  and  when  he 
returned  from  a  shopping;  tour  with  two  red  varn 
hoods  for  his  two  voun^  ladv  daughters,  neither  of 
them  was  pleased.  (In  Marv.  however,  whose 
complexion  was  altogether  different  from  Frances', 
the  hood  looked  well  enouj^h,  but  on  Frances  it 
was  so  out  of  harmonv  with  her  hair,  that  she 
declared  she  "hated  it  with  a  hatred  and  a  half." 

To  one  of  her  artistic  taste  it  was  punishment 
enough  to  be  compelled  to  wear  the  hood,  but  it 
was  insult  heaped  on  injurv  wlien  the  dau^lUer  of 
a  wealthv  and  influential  family,  a  <;irl  much  larger 
than  Frances,  selected  this  red  liood  as  a  special 
target  of  which  to  make  sport   for  the  school-girls. 

This  treatment,  often  repeated,  made  F'rances 
verv  angrv.  and  she  served  warning  on  b.er  tor- 
mentor that  she  had  better  stop  the  sport. 

The  larger  girl  continued,  however,  until  a  day 
when  Frances  was  tying  on  the  hateful  hood  after 
school  she  overstepped  all  bounds,  greatlv  to  the 
amusement  of  some  of  the  school-girls. 

It  was  impossible  to  stand  the  insult    longer. 


scHooi.^D.ns 


<r 


I-ram\.s'  I)|(h),|  mn  h,,t  ujth  in(lii;nali()n.  and  sud- 
denly, wiilioiit  spcakiii^r  ;,  ^v.inl  to  am  one  of  Ikt 
intc'iitions.  slu-  ualkr.!  up  to  iIk'  offciKkr  and  duilt 
Ikt  siic-h  a  blow  that  the  next  i:i.,tant  the  lar.-cr  -iri 
found  herself  l\ii)n-  on  the  lloor  behind  a  desk. 

After  this  unusual  feat,  the  victorious  Frances 
calnilv  tied  on  lier  Iwniely  red  hood  and  nuirched 
home. 

The  ininishment  thus  meted  out  to  the  larger 
girl  put  an  ^-nd  to  the  trouble,  and  strange  as  it 
seemed,  made  her  ever  after  one  of  Frances'  best 
friends. 

With  her  born  love  for  excitement  and  adven- 
ture, it  was  not  strange  that  Frances  should  select 
as  a  friend  a  girl  in  whom  the  spirit  of  adventure 
was  ever  uppermost.  It  did  not  matter  at  all  to 
her  that  this  newly  selected  friend  was  called  the 
"wildest  girl"  in  school,  and  that  ^he  did  all  sorts 
of  strange  things  that  made  her  conduct,  to  savthe 
least,  very  irregular. 

From  the  day  of  their  acquaintance  she  pos- 
sessed some  strange  power  of  fascination  for  the  girl 
reared  on  the  Western  prairie,  and  soon  the  two 
were  inseparal)le  companions. 

The  seventy  rules  of  the  institution,  which 
Frances  had  determined  when  slie  went  there  to 
keep    to   the    letter,    wue    ^uo^    >,ei    aside.      Her 


9« 


.■IN    L'XCKOllXEn   }^'EEN 


newly  toiind  liitiid  was  imicli  aimisod  at  her  for 
thinking;  ot  kcrpini;  Mt  many  rules,  and  argvicd  with 
\:^oin\  cff(.(  t  that  tin  v  ini^dit  do  as  they  pleased  so 
lon^  as  they  didn't  bother  anvhody. 

Aetini;  on  this  tiieory.  sonic  unusual  proceed- 
ing's took  place. 

As  a  favorite  study  resort  the  two  used  the 
steeple  of  the  colle^^e  huildinK.  where  their  range 
of  vision  was  bounded  only  by  the  sky-line  over 
the  lake,  and  here  I'rances  prepared  some  of  the 
lessons   lluit  made  her  instructors  so  proud  of  her. 

The  friend  Frances  had  thus  chosen  was  not  the 
only  wild  «;irl  in  the  school,  and  as  if  drawn 
together  by  some  common  spirit,  all  these  girls 
came  to  be  kn(jwti  as  the  "ne'er-do-weels"  with 
Frances  as  a  sort  of  captain,  much  to  the  sorrow 
of  the  teachers,  all  of  whom  loved  and  admired 
her.  and  with  her  parents,  were  anxious  that  she 
should  be  a  Christian. 

At  the  head  of  a  small  company  of  the  "wild 
set,"  Frances  went  to  a  prayer-meeting  one  after- 
noon, which  was  being  held  in  the  room  of  one  of 
the  "good  girls."  and  no  sooner  had  she  entered 
the  room  than  she  was  given  a  Bible  and  asked  to 
lead  the  meeting. 

Now,  while  she  was  not  a  Christian  herself, 
Frances  had  too  much  respect  for  religious  affairs 


SCHOOL-/). /}s 


vy 


to  l)c  irrt'VLT(  nt.  and  seeing  no  uav  out  ul  the  pn.- 
clitMincnt.  site  took  the  Bible,  and  aftir  reading  a 
few  verses,  said,  "Let  lis  pray,"  and  tvery  girl 
in  tile  room  but  one  ol  her  own  st't  knelt. 

"Lineburger,  why  don't  you  kiinl  down  and 
behave  I"  Frances  exclaimed,  with  great  disap- 
proval; "if  you  don't  you're  a  disgrace  to  vourself 
and  the  whole  Lineburger  tribe."  and  not  wishing 
to  disgrace  the  "  Lineburger  tribe,"  or  to  prolong 
the  discussion,  Lineburger  knelt,  and  the  pravcr 
proceeded  with  ciue  gravity. 

During  the  days  of  her  chiklhood,  she  had  been 
allowed  to  read  only  such  books  ts  her  father  ap- 
proved of.  pirate  stories  being  considered  especially 
objectionable. 

Among  the  valued  possessions  of  het  friend, 
was  a  copy  of  "Jack  Sheppard."  which  Frances 
read  with  great  relish,  gaining  from  it  an  inspiration 
to  play  pirate. 

Though  the  thing  seemed  little  short  of  real 
adventure  to  the  girls,  they  determined  to  plav  cor- 
rectly, and  to  this  end  sunplied  themselves  witli 
boots,  wooden  pistols,  soda  pop  as  a  substitute  for 
lic|Uor,  and  to  give  the  affair  a  realistic  fLivor,  they 
each  securetl  a  cigar,  which  they  lit  and  converted 
into  as  much  smoke  as  possible,  thinking  the 
authorities  would  never  be  the  wiser. 


lOO 


,/iV    UNCROJV\ED    <^UEEN 


But  in  tlic  midst  of  a  splcndifl  strutting  scene, 
when  hoots  were  nuieli  in  evidence,  and  soda  pop 
licjuor  hami\ .  drawn  hy  the  scent  of  the  cigar 
smoke,  a  lady  teaclier  suddenly  appeared  upon  the 
scene  of  action,  greatly  to  the  disniav  of  the  two 
girls. 

They  expected  an  unmerciful  scolding,  knowing 
full  well  thev  deserved  it.  liut  instead  slie  said, 
pleasantly.  "Well,  if  this  is  not  fortunate.  The 
nK)S(juitoes  have  almost  driven  me  out  of  my  room 
this  hot  night,  and  if  you  girls  \,i]l  just  come  in 
and  smoke  them  out  it  will  be  a  great  ..ivor  to 
me. '  ■ 

Accordinglv.  the  young  ladies  were  compelled 
to  march  to  tlie  teacher's  room,  where  >  ley  had 
the  mortification  of  sitting  some  time  with  boots 
and  ci<':ars,  v/hich  was  all  the  punishment  they  ever 
received,  and  all  Frances  ever  needed. 

But  even,  in  her  sport  during  the  first  vcar  at 
Evanston,  Frances  was  (juick  to  discern  the  differ- 
ence between  an  adventurous  prank  and  an  act  of 
uiuiuestioned  wrong,  as  her  friend  learned  when  on 
one  occasion  she  planned  a  clandestine  horseback 
ride  for  herself  and  Frances,  each  to  be  accom- 
panied by  a  young  man.  the  thing  being  strictly 
forbidden  bv  the  rules  of  the  institution. 

Knowing  nothing  of  the  plan.  Frances  accepted 


SCHOOL   D.n'S 


lOI 


her  friend's  invitntion  to  walk  in  the  ninonH,i;ht.  and 
was  shocked  when  there  suddenlv  stepped  before 
her.  from  a  sliaded  spot,  two  yonng  gentlemen. 

Droppini;  her  friend's  arm,  Frances  hurried 
back  to  her  room,  so  offended  that  she  did  not 
speak  to  her  friend  for  three  weeks,  and  then  only 
on  promise  that  no  like  affair  should  ever  be 
planned. 

All  the  time  this  strong,  and  not  altogether 
profitable  friendship  existed  between  Frances  and 
her  friend,  she  was  making  long  strides  in  her 
studies.  None  was  possessed  of  a  keener  insight, 
and  certainly  no  voung  woman  in  the  college  pos- 
sessed a  clearer  purpose  or  stronger  will. 

Early  in  the  vear  she  had  been  elected  editor  of 
the  college  paper,  in  the  management  of  which  she 
showed  great  originality  and  brilliancy,  so  that 
while  she  was.  on  account  of  her  unusual  brilliancy, 
a  great  care  to  her  teachers,  she  was  at  the  same 
time  the  pride  of  every  instructor  in  the  college. 


CHAPTER  IX 


Mrs.  Willard  was  one  of  those  rarely  well-bal- 
anced Christians,  who  combine  in  happy  fashion  the 
two  necessary  (|ualifications  outlined  in  the  terse 
scripture.  "Watch  and  pray."  All  the  years  of 
their  childhood  she  had  done  both  in  the  interests 
of  her  children,  and  when  they  left  the  home  roof 
she  continued  the  prayers.  But  the  strong  attach- 
ment between  Frances  and  her  fascinating  friend, 
the  "wild  girl."  decided  Mrs.  Willard  that  the 
watching  should  also  be  continued  yet  a  little 
longer;  and  after  much  discussion  between  the 
parents,  it  was  finally  decided  that  the  Willard 
family  should  remove  from  Forest  Home  to  Evans- 
ton,  so  that  the  girls  might  again  be  under  the 
watchful  care  of  wise  parents. 

The  grounds  around  the  spot  selected  for  the 
new  home,  which  was  called  "Swampscott, "  were 
large,  and  Mr.  Willard  took  great  pleasure  in  mak- 
ing lovely  gardens.  Nearly  every  tree  and  vine 
and  fiower  that  he  planted  had  been  brought  from 
Forest  Home,  and  Frances  and  Mary  helped  in  the 
planting  of  them  as  thty  had  done  in  childhood  days. 

With  tlie  iluwers  and  shrubs  a  number  of  pets 

102 


SCHOOL-DATS 


103 


had  l)een  brought  from  the  farm,  tlic  effort  of  each 
member  of  the  familv  liein^  to  make  the  new  home 
as  much  as  possible  like  the  did. 

Swampscott  was  near  the  great  blue  lake, 
which  the  children  had  been  afraid  of  years  before, 
and  had  called  the  "fearful  sea"  because  it  roared. 

They  were  not  afraid  of  the  water  now,  and 
soon  learned  to  love  the  lake  almost  as  if  it  had 
been  some  great  thing  alive.  They  listened  tothe 
different  songs  it  sang — sometimes  far-away,  sad 
songs,  like  a  murmur  from  some  great  beating 
heart;  sometimes  fierce,  wild  songs  as  if  the  lake 
were  angr\'  with  the  whole  wide  world. 

Its  motion  also  charmed  them.  They  liked  to 
watch  the  water  as  it  crept  to  the  shore  line,  rock- 
ing softly  in  its  great  bed.  while  the  little  waves 
rippled  over  the  blue  like  white  lace  ruffles  on  an 
endless  blue  satin  skirt.  They  liked  to  imagine  it 
as  resting  when  it  lay  at  night  so  quiet  as  to  reflect 
the  stars  that  shone  over  it.  and  they  stood  in  awe 
when  it  piled  itself  in  great  waves  that  flung  out 
long  white  arms  which  waved  wildly  for  a  moment 
and  then  fell  back  with  a  crash  into  the  boiling 
water. 

Often  the  two  sisters  walked  on  the  pebbly 
beach  which  lay  quite  near  Swampscott,  and  with 
their  arms   around  one    another,    talked    of   their 


i 


I04     .IN 


UNCROlf WEI)   liHJEEN 


otudies,  makiiiy  many  jjlans  for  the  lon^^  future  that 
seemed  to  stretch  before  them  so  inviting  and  full 
of  i)romise.  Sometimes  they  san,  son<;s  together 
vviiile  the  waves  played  the  accomjx.ni'nent  against 
the  smooth  stones  of  the  shore  line.  Sometimes 
they  rejX'ated  favorite  selections  from  the  authors, 
and  bits  of  verse. 

One  short  poem  that  was  an  especial  favorite  on 
their  strolls  along  the  beach,  was: 

Alone  I  walked  the  ocean  strand 
A  pearly  F.liell  was  in  my  hand, 
I  stooped  and  wrote  upon  the  <?\u[ 

My  name,  the  year,  the  day: 
Ab  onward  from  the  spot  I  passed 
One  linperin;;  look  behind  I  cast 
A  wave  came  rollinir  hi^h  and  fa;. 

And  wasiied  my  lines  away 

And  so,  methoi'.fjht,  'twill  quickly  !'e 
With  every  mark  on  earth  of  me: 
A  wave  of  dark  oblivion's  sea 

Will  sweep  across  the  place 
Where  I  have  trod  ihe  sandy  shore 
Of  time,  and  bf^  no  more 
Of  me,  my  day.  the  name  1  bore 

To  leave  no  track  or  '.race. 

And  yet,  with  Him  who  coimts  the  sands. 
And  holds  the  water  in  His  hands, 
I  know  a  lastin^;  record  stands 

Inscribed  against  my  name. 
Of  all  the  busy  hand  huth  wrought. 
Of  all  this  thinkin^^  soul  hath  thought. 
And  from  these  tleeting  moments  caught 

For  ixlorv  or  for  .sh.ame- 


SCHOOL-D.irs 


105 


Sonictinics  the  sisters  talked  of  Forest  Home 
as  they  sat  on  the  saiul  watching  the  ripples  dance 
and  foam;  they  talked  of  the  spring  tlowers  that 
had  bloomed  on  the  hill,  of  the  birds'  nests  in  the 
thickets,  of  the  picnics  to  the  pasture  when  Xig 
carried  the  lunch  on  his  back,  and  of  the  hickory 
and  hazel  nuts  that  they  had  gathered  in  the  autumn, 
and  they  wished  they  might  go  back  to  the  child- 
hood da}s  for  just  a  little  while. 

To  both  girls  came  time?  of  serious  reflection, 
but  to  Mary  thoughts  of  the  great  invisible  world 
that  lies  beyond  the  ken  of  any  mortal,  came  per- 
haps more  often  than  to  Frances,  and  U,y  her  the 
thought  of  death  held  more  terror,  perhaps  be- 
cause when  but  a  cliild  she  had  been  allowed  to 
peep  over  the  edge  of  a  coffin  and  from  the  sight 
received  a  shock  that  made  death  forever  after  ter- 
rible to  her.  so  that  she  would  not  so  much  as  attend 
the  funeral  of  a  friend. 

After  such  a  funeral  she  wrote  in  her  diary: 
"One  more  soul  before  its  God — one  more  grave 

in  Rose  Hill Of  all  that  go— the  timid  and 

the  fearless — none  come  back  to  tell  us  anvthing, 
though  I  am  sure  that  many  would  if  it  were  pos- 
sible. We  can  solve  the  problem  for  ourselves; 
we  must  solve  it,  whether  we  will  or  not.  This, 
then,  siiall  be  the  object  of  my  life:   to  grow  rich  in 


iJU 


io6      .4N   UNCROIVNED   kWEEiV 


love  and  faith  toward  God — to  prepare  my  soul  for 
the  great  trial  that  is  surely  coming  on." 

But  Mary  was  by  no  means  of  melancholy  dis- 
position. Her  days  were  crowded  with  too  many 
joys  and  duties;  and  the  beauties  of  nature  appealed 
to  her  so  strongly  that  in  them  she  found  imaginarv 
charms  as  when  after  seeing  a  rainbow,  she  wrote: 
"When  I  saw  that  beautiful  thing  reaching  to  the 
horizon  on  the  north  and  south,  I  thought  the  earth 
was  like  a  basketful  of  leaves  and  flowers,  and  the 
rainbow  was  the  handle  to  it."' 

During  these  college  days  the  home  life  of  the 
Willards  was  very  bright  and  merry,  the  three  chil- 
dren being  home,  and  each  as  busily  engaged  with 
school  work  as  they  had  in  former  days  been  en- 
gaged in  horseback  riding  and  Indian  fights. 

They  also  found  some  time  from  their  school 
work  for  social  recreation,  and  in  society  Frances 
was  especially  popular,  though  her  opinion  of  soci- 
ety was  none  of  the  most  exalted,  conventionalism 
being  especially  distasteful  to  her. 

On  one  occasion  at  a  social  entertainment  she 
was  heard  lo  say  to  an  admiring  young  gentleman, 
perhaps  anticipating  his  remarks.  "We  all  seem  to 
be  in  good  health,  the  company  is  pleasant,  and  the 
evening  a  fine  one.  These  subjects  being  duly 
disposed  of,  what  shall  we  talk  about.'"  and  the 


SCHOOL-DJrS 


107 


young  gentleman  was  so  entirely  bewitched  by  her 
originality  that  he  lost  his  heart  that  same  night, 
and  rumor  said  that  Frances  had  it  in  her  pos- 
session. 

But  while  she  had  in  one  way  little  appreciation 
for  the  functions  of  society,  in  another  way  she  held 
it  at  its  full  value,  as  extracts  from  her  journal  show. 
"Society  is  to  ever>'-day  life."  she  wrote,  "what 
recess  is  to  the  school-boy.  If  it  has  been  crowded 
from  this,  its  right  relation,  then  it  is  for  every 
right-thinking  member  to  aid  in  the  restoration  of  it 
to  its  true  position.  Let  no  cynical  philosopher 
inveigh  against  society.  Let  none  sav  its  fruits 
are  simply  heartlessness  and  hypocrisy.  Man  is  a 
creature  of  habits;  when  among  his  fellows,  he 
does  his  best,  studiously  at  first,  unthinkingly  after- 
ward. I  will  venture  to  a'^sert  that  the  Man  who 
was  greater  than  any  other  who  walked  the  earth 
was  the  kindest,  the  best  bred,  the  most  polite. 
Society  is  not  an  incidental,  unimportant  affair;  it 
is  the  outward  sign  of  an  inward  grace.  Let  us 
then,  if  we  can.  be  graceful;  cultivate  conversa- 
tional ability,  musical  talent;  improve  our  manners, 
and  our  beauty,  if  we  arc  blessed  with  it.  Har- 
monious sounds  cheer  the  heart.  Fitness  is  admir- 
able. All  thes-}  are  means  of  happiness  to  us.  who 
have  sorrow  enough  at  best.      It  is  no  light  thing 


loS 


yIN    VNCROltWED   y:ii'EEN 


to   perform    the   duties   we   owe   society,    iiiul    it    is 
better  to  approxinuite  them  than   to  ij^iiore  them." 

The  hist  year  of  college  life  was  to  Frances  an 
especially  trying  one.  for  she  carried  six  or  seven 
studies,  and  twice  before  her  grafluation  suffered 
from  severe  illness.  From  her  diary  near  the  close 
of  the  school  of  the  senior  year,  she  writes:  "I 
am  now  in  the  midst  of  the  cares  and  duties  and 
troubles  of  my  last  teriu  at  school,  and  von  must 
expect  less  frequent  visits  for  a  few  weeks,  mv  silent 
confidant.  Professor  detained  me  after  devotions 
this  morning,  and  with  his  most  'engaging'  smile, 
made  this  announcement,  'Rv  the  vote  of  vour 
teachers  you  are  appointed  valedictorian. '  I  was 
glad,  of  course,  'tis  like  human  nature.  To  others 
it  will  seem  a  small  thing;   it  is  not  so  to  me." 

The  fact  that  she  received  first  honors  at  the 
close  of  her  college  life  was  not  a  surprise  to  he- 
teachers  and  companions,  for  bv  a  long  and  patient 
course  of  study  she  had  won  her  reward. 

One  of  life's  hardest  lessons,  however,  Frances 
Willard  learned  at  the  close  of  her  school  life. 
The  white  graduating  gown  that  she  had  hoped  to 
wear  was  never  worn:  the  splendid  valedictory  that 
she  had  expected  to  deliver  before  an  admiring 
audience  w^as  not  delivered.  The  long  strain 
proved  too  much  for  the  young  student,  and  on  her 


sciiooi.-D.irs 


io<; 


j;ia(Iiuitini;  day  she  lay  upon  a  bed  ot  sickiu'ss. 
bearing  her  disappointniciit  with  true  lieroism,  as 
is  learned  from  Iier  journal:  "Since  I  last  wrote  in 
niy  journal,  under  date  of  June  22i\,  1  have  suf- 
fered much,  physically  and  mentally.  I  have  borne 
great  disappointments  (for  met;  but  as  I  have  suf- 
fered I  have  thouglit,  and  I  am  the  wiser  and  the 
better  for  my  trial.  I  have  had  typhoid  fever;  am 
just  recovering.  Very  much  of  interest  has  oc- 
curred during  these  unchronicled  days.  I  have  seen 
Oliver's  dij)loma,  and  my  own.  We  arc £ra,/i/<i/is/ 
How  very  little  does  the  word  mean,  and  yet  how 
much!  It  means  years  of  patient,  silent  brain 
work,  discipline,  obedience  to  the  will  of  others. 
It  means  that  we  have  started  on  the  beautiful 
search  after  truth  and  right  and  peace.  Only 
started — only  opened  the  door.  Thank  God!  we 
may  go  on  fu  -ver  alone.  I  was  unable  to  be 
present  or  to  receive  my  diploma,  and  Mary  took  it 

for    me I    am   very   sorry   I    was   ve.xcd. 

There  was  no  valedictory.  The  examinations  and 
commencement  exercises  passed  off  creditably  to 

the  institution,  I  have  been  ■old Dr.  Lud- 

1am.  our  honored  and  beloved  phvsician.  has  gonj 
to  the  beautiful  Land  o'  the  Leal.  What  we  used  to 
see  walking  the  streets,  and  smiling  pleasantly — the 
chrysalis  he  inhabited — sleeps  in  Rose   Hill  Ceme- 


IIP      .IN    USCRCJIIWED   ^^UEEN 

tcry.  The  spirit  to-day  is  happy  with  God  and 
Christ.  //  is  very  i.'cll.  If  I  had  had  his  prepara- 
tion, joyfully  would  I  have  exchanged  places  with 
him.  But  1  have  come  back  to  life  to  suffer  and 
toil  and  earn— in  some  degree — the  rest  of  the 
hereafter.  It  was  the  disappointment  of  my  life 
that  I  was  unable  to  bear  my  examinations,  read 
my  essay,  and  graduate  regularly.  I  have  borne  it 
stoically;  I  have  shed  no  tear,  and  said  little  about 
it;  but  I  have  thought.  ///>  hand  has  crushed  me, 
and  not  withoiU  reason,  not,  I  hope,  in  vain.  I 
shall  be  twenty  years  old  in  September,  and  I  have 
as  yet  been  of  no  use  in  the  world.  When  I  recover, 
when  I  possess  once  more  a  'sound  mind  in  a  sound 
body,'  I  will  earn  my  own  living;  'pay  my  own  way' 
and   try  to  be  of    use   in    the  world.      It   will— it 

shall— be  better  that  I  did  not  die This 

verse,  from  one  of  Longfellow's  poems,  has  com- 
forted and  quieted  me: 

"And  thou,  too,  whosoe'er  thou  art 
That  readest  this  brief  psalm, 
As  one  by  one  thy  hopes  depart 
Be  resolute  and  calm." 


CHJPTER  X 

To  those  most  interested  in  iier  during  her  col- 
lege days,  the  attitude  of  !•  ranees  Willard  toward 
religion  was  at  the  same  time  pu/./iing.  and  to  those 
of  less  faith  than  her  mother,  a  bit  foreboding,  for 
she  showed  a  decided  disliking  for  purely  religious 
subjects,  and  only  attended  such  religious  meetings 
as  seemed  to  be  required. 

She  denietl  knowing  anything,  confessed  believ- 
ing nothing,  and  was  by  many  looked  upon  as  an 
infidel,  though  she  called  herself  an  "incniirer. " 

On  account  of  her  wide  influence  jng  her 
companions,  and  the  yet  wider  inlluencL  her  bril- 
liancy gave  promise  of.  her  teachers  were  extremely 
anxious  to  have  her  go  forth  into  the  world  with  a 
well-grounded  faith,  and  made  many  attempts  to 
interest  her  in  matters  pertaining  to  the  welfare  of 
her  soul. 

On  one  occasion,  having  been  influenced  by  the 
persuasion  of  a  teacher  whom  she  held  in  high 
esteem,  Professor  Jones,  Frances  went  to  the  altar 
in  a  public  meeting,  greatly  to  his  joy.  But  his 
rejoicing  was  short  lived,  for  immediately  upon 
reacliing  home  she  wrote  him  a  letter,  which  was 

III 


I  I 


/.V    UXCROliWEI) 


■Zri'.h.s 


iitmiiKl  Ipv  liiiu    t(i   h'.r  attii    .m  intuwil  <il    thirty 
V(  ;iis. 

"Profi  s,i,r,"  ii  lui,',m.  "I  itKink  you  viry  niii<  h  lur  tlic 
intiTist  yt)ii  nKiiiiUs'  in  iiu',  at  tlu'  s.iniL-  linic  1  fet'l  v-.  y  >;iiiltv. 
I  <lu  nut  ihiuk  y,.ii  know  ti..w  haul  my  heart  is,  how  l.:r  I  .iiii 
from  tcilirii;  anythiii;;.  I  -mi  I  lia\r  tio  ivxciisc  to  offer  loi  niv 
coiKliict.  Thrif  flits  stand  out  before  nie  as  facts,  iiotliiiii; 
more.  I  viewiliem  lalnily.  efildly.  Iluy  are  these:  I  air,  a 
threat  siiiiur.  Il  i,  a  sin  >,'rea!cr  tiian  I  r.in  comprehend  '■>  dmibt 
(lod,  or  to  refuse  siihmis-i  )n  to  him  for  a  moment.  I  liave  no 
excuse  for  delaying  to  become  a  Christian.  The  third  f.ict  i-, 
I  am  as  loid  as  an  i(  eberj;,  as  luiconceined  as  a  stone.  I  ant 
'!oi  jiroufi  of  it,  I  am  not  ashamed  ot  it.  I  view  it  Miiiplv  as  a 
Miith.  '  disconnect  it  from  my-elf.  '  semi  to  think  that  ill 
•liese  thini;s  concern  otiiers,  but  du  nut  c(jncern  me.  \ on  say 
ilK't  I  shall  leei  in  iieil  a  hard  word  i ;  I  shall  sec  that  tJKse 
Ihin^;s  did  concern  me,  when  I  come  to  die.  I  acknowledge  it. 
If  there  is  a  (lod,  a  heaven,  a  hell,  a  devil,  then  I  .im  mid  ine. 
1  have  been  t.uif^ht  to  think  that  all  these  exist,  yet  from  child- 
hood I  have  doubted.  !  have  been  told  that  man  feels  .i  lack, 
a  lonf,dni,'  for  soniethini,'  not  pos>essed  v^hen  awav  from  (iod. 
Candidly,  honestly,  I  feel  no  lack,  no  want.  I  would  not  a^k 
for  more  happiness  than  I  have  always  had,  if  by  askini;  I 
niif.;ht  obtain  il.  Voii  will  say  I  on;,dit  to  be  ihaiiktul  fortius  to 
Ciod.  I  am  thankful  to  something;,  thankful  to  whatever  has 
thus  blessed  me,  and  I  wish  I  was  as  sure  that  a  ^jood  Spirit 
rulitig  the  universe  had  done  this,  as  Christians  are.  If  I  were 
to  pray.  I  should  say,  if  I  were  candid,  '()  C.od,  if  thete  be  a 
God,  save  my  soul,  if  I  have  a  soul!'  It  is  humiliating;  for  me, 
the  child  of  pious  parents,  for  whom  a  thou- and  prayers  have 
been  offered,  to  confess  thus.  I  had  thou^^ht  no  human  heart 
should  be  permitted  to  Io(jk  so  deeply  into  mine.  But  I  think 
it  just  that  you  should  know.  And  now,  in  view  of  all  the^e 
facts,  I  ask  rerpectfully.  yet  earnestly,  ousjht  I  to  go  to  he 
al'.ar,  to  kneel  before  the  Christian's  C.od,  to  hear  the  Chrio- 
tian's  prayjr,  careless  and  unconcerned.'  Soon  il  will  be 
e.xpected    that    1    speak    in    cluiieh.     Congratul.itions    will    be 


SCHOOL  DATS 


"3 


numerous  that  I  Imw  'rcturticfl  ti  the  fold,"  and  my  dark, 
wicked  heart  alone  shall  know  how  far  1  have  wandered,  how 
hypocritical  I  am.  \  am  willinir  to  attend  church,  thou^jh  ^t 
interferes  very  much  with  my  prci,'ress  in  science.  I  am  will- 
ing  to  Ro.  if  you  think  it  v.-ill  do  any  p)od,  but  until  I  fee! 
differently.  I  </,//>• ;/,-/  >;o  to  the  altar  aKain.  U  hen  I  do,  I  will 
Ro  unasked,     i  am. 

"Gratefully  and  respectfully  yours, 

"Fr.\N(  IS    K.    WiLLARD." 

The  devoted  teacher  to  whom   this  letter  was 
addressed  niif^ht  have  been  greatly  surprised,  but 
he  did  not  lose  faith,  and  the  e.xample  set  by  his 
life,  more  than  any  precept  he  ever  uttered,  helped 
Frances  in    the    direction    he  wished    her    to   go. 
Years  af.      'ard.  in  writing  his  recollection  of  the 
days  wher.   Frances  Willard  was  at   Evanston.  he 
said:   "It  did  not  take  long  to  discover  the  taste  of 
Frances    as    regarH'.'d    studies.      She    would    take 
mathematics  as  a  disagreeable  mental  tonic,  recom- 
mended by  the  learned  of  all  ages;  the  sciences  drew 
her  strongly,  and  won  close  study;  but  her  delight 
was,  first,  the  belles-lettres  studies,  and  then,  as  she 
advanced  in  her  course,  mental  and  moral  science 
and  the  argumentative  Butler's  Analogy.    From  the 
day  she  entered  college  she  made  friends  rapidly. 
Among  the   students   she  was  an  intellectual  and 
emotional  kxlestone.     They  loved  to  cluster  around 
her  and  hear  her  talk.      She  would  set  them  to  dis- 
coursing on  subjects  quite  out  of  the  range  of  ordi- 


114 


AN   UNCROIVNED   HnJEEN 


nary  college  girls'  conversation,  interspersing  her 
own  wise,  ([uaint.  and  witty  speeches,  to  the  great 
delight  of  her  listeners.  Possessed  of  a  worthy 
ambition  to  live  for  a  purpose,  she  inspired  the 
same  feeling  in  many  of  her  schoolmates.  Her 
lively  imagination  drew  plans  for  the  future,  not 
only  of  herself  but  of  those  around  her.  into  which 
they  entered  with  a  spirit  that  showed  itself  in  all 
their  work.  If  they  built  castles  in  Spain,  they 
nevertheless  laid  foundations  for  character  and 
future  achievement  in  real  life,  which  endured  long 
after  their  airv  visions  passed  away,  as  their  lives 
since  have  well  attested.  From  the  first  I  was 
concerned  to  learn  whether,  in  the  gatherings  of 
students  in  her  room  and  elsewhere.  Miss  Willard 
was  disseminating  skeptical  notions.  1  soon  ascer- 
tained that  her  skepticism  was  of  a  mild  form. 
Most  of  all.  she  doubted  all  her  doubts,  and  in 
regard  to  other  students,  was.  of  her  own  good 
judgment,  pursuing  very  nearly  the  course  I  would 
have  advised.  Of  course  it  was  impossible  for  one 
so  frank  as  she  to  conceal  her  doubts  altogether, 
although  she  did  not  trv  to  foster  them  in  others. 
Tl'ere  were  students'  praver  meetings,  class  meet- 
ings, and  missionary  meetings.  Revivals  came  and 
went,  and  few  except  Miss  Willard  fuii.:'  to  take 
a  lively  interest   in  them.      Still    I  vas  confident 


SCHOOL-DJTS 


"5 


that  she  was  not  indifferent.  She  never  scoffed  at 
others'  piety,  never  sought  to  deter  any  one,  but 
always  encouraged  her  friends  to  do  what  they 
beheved  was  right.  At  the  same  time,  it  was  evi- 
dent that  she  was  not  to  be  brouglit  into  the  faith 
by  the  mere  entreaties  and  importunities  of  her 
friends,  and  I  discouraged  attempts  of  that  kind. 
And  yet  the  incident  so  tenderly  recalled  by  Miss 
Willard  in  one  of  her  addresses,  when  she  spoke  of 
Mrs.  Jones  as  the  only  teaclier  who  had  ever  gone 
to  her  room,  and  putting  an  arm  around  her,  asked 
her  to  let  her  pray  for  her.  shows  how  deeply  she 
appreciated  any  manifestations  of  interest  in  her 
spiritual  welfare.  Miss  Willard  grew  dearer  to  all. 
and  every  one,  teachers  and  students,  grew  prouder 
of  her  as  she  moved  on  to  what  we  knew  would  be 
a  brilliant  graduation.  Her  intellectual  lineaments 
had  grown  stronger,  and  shown  brighter;  and  best 
of  all.  the  unrest  of  doubt  seemed  to  be  disappear- 
ing. It  began  to  be  remarked  that  she  took  more 
interest  in  the  college  prayer  meetings,  attending 
them  without  solicitation.  We  were  reviewin<r 
Wayland's  Moral  Science,  preparatory  to  the  final 
e.xaminations.  I  entered  the  class  without  a  book, 
and  having  occasion  to  ask  for  one,  Miss  Willard 
handed  me  hers,  it  opened  of  itself  at  the  begin- 
ning of  the  chapter  on  'Virtue.'  and  on  the  blank 


« 


it6      .-in    uncrowned    <^UEEN 


half-page  oii|iosiiu.  I  read  (as  r-'arly  as  I  can  recall 
the  words)  the  foilowiiif;  memorandum:  'When  I 
began  this  siiidy,  I  could  not  say  whether  there 
was  a  (ioci  or  no.  and  if  there  was,  whether  he 
cared  for  me  or  not.  \ow.  thanks  to  President 
Wayland  and  my  faithful  instructors,  I  can  say 
from  my  heart  I  believe  that  there  is  a  God,  and 
that  he  is  my  Father.'  " 

Under  the  heading  "God  and  my  Heart,"  Miss 
Willard  wrote  manv  years  afterward  of  her  conver- 
sion: "It  was  one  night  in  June,  185Q.  I  was 
nineteen  years  old,  and  was  lying  on  my  bed  in  my 
home  at  Evanston.  Illinois,  with  tvphoid  fever. 
The  doctor  had  said  that  the  crisis  would  soon 
arrive,  and  I  had  overheard  his  words.  Mother 
was  watching  in  the  next  room.  My  whole  soul 
was  intent,  as  two  voices  seemed  to  speak  within 
me,  one  of  them  saying,  '  My  child,  give  me  thine 
heart.  I  called  thee  long  Iiy  joy,  I  call  thee  now 
by  chastisenK'nt;  but  I  have  loved  thee  always,  and 
only  because  I  love  thee  with  an  everlasting  love. ' 
The  other  said,  'Surely  you  who  are  so  resolute 
and  strong  will  not  break  down  now  because  of 
physical  feebleness.  You  arc  a  reasoncr.  and 
never  yet  were  you  convinced  of  the  reasonable- 
ness of  Christianity.  Hold  out  now,  and  vou  will 
feel  when  you  get  well   just   as  vou  used  to  feel.' 


SCIIOOL-DJrS 


"7 


One  presence  was  to  me  warm,  sunny,  safe,  with 
an  impression  of  snowy  wings;  the  other  cold, 
dismal,  dark,  with  the  flutter  of  a  bat.  The  con- 
troversy did  not  seem  brief:  in  my  weakness  such 
a  strain  would  doubtless  appear  longer  than  it  was. 
But  at  last,  solemnly,  and  with  my  whole  heart,  I 
said,  not  in  spoken  words,  but  in  the  deeper  lan- 
guage of  consciousness,  'If  God  lets  me  get  well. 
I'll  try  to  be  a  Christian  girl.'  But  this  resolve 
did  not  bring  peace.  'You  must  at  once  declare 
this  inward  resolution,'  said  the  inward  voice." 

Calling  her  mother,  who  was  in  the  next  room, 
Frances  said.  "Mother.  I  wish  to  tell  you  that  if 
God  lets  me  get  well.  I'll  try  to  be  a  Christian  girl.  " 
and  for  answer  the  mother  who  had  1)een  earnestly 
praying  for  this  one  thing  since  the  child  had  first 
been  put  into  her  arms,  knelt  beside  the  bed  and 
wept  for  joy,  while  Frances  dropped  into  a  restful 
sleep,  blessed  with  the  peace  that  passes  under- 
standing. 

The  year  following  this  illness,  Frances  made  a 
public  profession  of  her  faith,  described  by  Profes- 
sor Junes:  "It  was  Sunday  evening.  A  large  con- 
gregation in  the  Methodist  Church  had  listened  to 
an  ordinary  sermon,  and  seemed  somewhat  im- 
patient for  dismissal,  when  the  pastor,  to  the  sur- 

J *     *-'      -  '  ,"     '-'ii^  .     ^Alviiviv^:    till     :;; V  iifc-ii-iu;;    ixj    lliO'iw 


ii8      AN   UNCROIVNED    ^^^UEEN 

who  wished  to  unite  with  the  church  on  probation 
to  meet  him  at  the  altar.  The  revival  wave  of  the 
last  winter  had  rolled  by;  there  had  been  no  special 
meetings;  not  a  ripple  of  religious  excitement  was 
discoverable  on  the  smooth  current  of  the  church. 
Under  the  circumstances,  no  one  was  expected  to 
respond  to  the  pastor's  invitation.  A  moment's 
pause,  ard  a  single  young  woman  moved  out  into 
the  main  aisle,  and  with  a  firm  step  approached 
the  altar.  Instantly  all  eyes  converged  upon  her. 
There  was  no  mistaking  that  form  and  face;  it  was 
Miss  Willard.  No  sign  or  faintest  token  of  douL 
clouded  that  countenance  now.  There  was  tha*^ 
firm  expression  of  the  features  which  clinches  faith 
and  says.  'Here  I  stand.  I  can  do  no  other.'  The 
effect  on  the  congregation  was  electrical.  For  a 
few  moments  the  solemnity  of  the  occasion  held  all 
othc  feelings  in  check,  but  soon  hundreds  of  faces 
turned  to  hundreds  of  others  filled  with  surprise 
and  joy,  and  many  aa  eye  was  moist  with  tears. 
Some  one  began  the  doxology,  'Praise  God  from 
whom  all  blessings  flow.'  and  it  was  sung  as  if  the 
very  stars  were  expected  to  join  in  the  chorus. ' ' 
This  demonstration  was  in  a  wav  prophetic,  for 
among  the  illustrious  personages  who  have  belonged 
to  the  Methodist  denomination  no  name  has  brought 

;»  .,,^,_„  '  .^.,^..  »u...,  ♦i,..t  ,,f  ir^... ,„..,.   p     \x":ii„_  " 


SCHOOL-DJrS 


119 


After  Frances  had  cletcrniincd  the  year  Ix-forc 
to  be  a  Cliristian  if  her  Hfe  were  spared,  she 
attended  a  revival  meeting,  during  which  she  went 
to  the  altar  fourteen  nights  in  succession,  expecting 
as  a  result  to  experience  some  wonderful  change, 
which  she  supposed  conversion  meant. 

Having  no  new  or  strange  experience,  she  at 
length  wisely  came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  trans- 
formation called  conversion  comes  as  a  result  of 
faith,  in  no  sense  dependent  on  feeling,  and  that 
for  her  the  matter  had  been  settled  once  for  all, 
when,  by  a  simple  act  of  will-power,  she  had  decided 
to  be  a  Christian. 

If,  during  the  days  of  preparation  for  her  life 
work,  Frances  Willard  had  mastered  only  the  pre- 
scribed college  course,  no  matter  how  thorough 
or  extensive,  she  would  not  have  been  thoroughly 
equipped  to  fight  the  battles  that  come  to  every 
human  soul. 

Having  adjusted  her  existence  in  as  far  as  she 
was  able  to  the  will  of  ilie  great  Creator,  she  had 
put  herself  in  a  position  to  ask  the  counsel  of  an  all- 
wise  Father,  and  to  expect  His  guidance  along  the 
mazy  and  interwoven  pathways  that  make  the  one 
great  highway  of  life. 


PART  III 


THE    TEACHER 

"NOT   TO   BE   AT   ALL,   OR    KLSE   TU   HE    A   TEACHER" 


I 


CHAPTER    XI 

In  the  days  of  the  young  womanhood  of  Frances 
Willard.  society  had  come,  in  a  measure,  to  recog- 
nize tlie  divine  right  of  a  man's  independence,  but 
the  divine  right  of  a  woman's  independence  was  as 
yet  but  dimly  perceived  by  the  most  prophetic 
minds,  and  but  one  profession,  that  of  teaching 
school,  was  open  to  her. 

Even  in  this  she  was  held  to  be  incapable  in 
great  degree,  and  a  woman  as  a  college  president 
had  not  been  dreamed  of. 

If  for  any  reason  this  profession  was  not  entered 
upon  by  the  woman  who  wished  to  be  independent, 
the  only  alternative  was  to  be  skilled  in  washing 
and  ironing,  sweeping  and  dusting,  darning  and 
baking,  in  short,  to  be  a  housewife. 

To  Frances,  whose  independent  spirit  came  with 
her  birth,  and  had  been  developed  by  the  freedom 
of  her  childhood  life,  this  order  seemed  out  of  har- 
mony with  the  purpose  of  creation,  and  thoroughly 
unjust. 

In  the  days  of  her  childhooa  she  had  not  felt  the 
pressure  of  the  fetters  drawn  by  custom.  At  Forest 
Home  she  had  been  dependent  on  herself,  and  by 

"3 


124     AN   UNCROIVNRD   ^^UEEN 


cxcrcisiti^r  her  own  resources,  had  been  independ- 
ent.    But  when  she  exchanged  farm  Hfe  for  that  of 
the  college,  she  was  no  longer  able  to  devise  ways 
and  means  to  suit  any  end.      The  things  she  needed 
she  could   neither  find   at   first   hand   in   nature's 
store,  or  manufacture  with  her  father's  tools.     She 
might  only  satisfy  her  needs  and  wants  with  money, 
which  she  must  ask  her  father  for,  knowing  as  she- 
did  so  that  he,  in  common  with  most  men  of  his 
day.  thought  women  incompetent  to  spend  money. 
Near   the    close   of   her   last  year   in  college, 
Frances  wrote  to  her  father  for  money  to  be  used 
in  providing  her  graduating  gown,   and   in   reply 
received  a  letter  in  which  he  said:   "Frances,  your 
letter  of  eighteen-dollars  notoriety  nearly  upset  my 
equanimity,  and   I  was  on  the  point  of  sending  for 
you  to  come  home,  but  upon  second  thought  con- 
cluded to  forward  six  dollars  to  Miss  Dickinson  to 
buy  the  material  for  your  dresses,  which  will  be 
amply  sufficient,  and  more  too.     As  for  the  sashes. 
I  shall  buy  them  here  if  necessary.      I  am  some- 
what  at  a  loss  whether  or  not   to  ask    Professor 
Jones  whether  he  prefers  to  have  your  tuition  and 
board  bills  paid  or  to  have  twenty  or  thirty  dollars 
paid  to  fix  yon.  up  in  white  lor  the  commencement. 
The  fact  is.  I  have  no  money.      I   have  sold  some 

wheat   for  fiftv  rent<;   -i  hi.s!-..^!  ♦-  -  f >        c 

-     -   ' ■•-.M.r.i    r.\j  ^cl   uiuliey  lor 


THE   TEACHER 

actual  necessities.  '  Voii  can't  have  more  of  a  cat 
than  her  skin.'  ....  Eij;hteen  dollars!  My 
horrors!  Tliat  is  a  pretty  serious  prelude  to  the 
preparation  of  coileKc  honors!" 

This  sort  of  thins,  though  she  understood  the 
circumstances,  was  decidedly  unpleasant  to  one  of 
Frances's  disposition,  and  yet  there  seemed  no 
immediate  chance  of  escape.  Certain  it  was  she 
hated  pots  and  dishcloths  and  darning-needks  with 
an  unchangeable  hatred,  anr!  her  father  was  so 
opposed  to  women  earning  their  living  outside  the 
home  that  he  forbade  his  daughter  thinking  of  such 
a  thing  as  teaching  school. 

For  a  time  after  she  left  school.  Frances,  partly 
owing  to  the  weak  condition   the  illness  that  kept 
her  from  her  graduation  left  her  in.  and  partlv  in 
compliance  with  her  father's  wish,  stayed  at  home, 
spending  many  quiet  hours  trying  to  take  the  advice 
of   the   sage  who   said,    "Know    thyself."     With 
careful  scrutiny  she  tried  to  sound  the  depths  of 
her  own  existence,  every  effort  but  adding  to  the 
mystery;  and  yet  the  estimate  of  herself  as  recorded 
in  her  "silent  confidant. "  her  journal,  gives  a  won- 
derful insight  into  her  character.     Writing  the  year 
after  she  left  school,  she  says:   "I  remember  that 
I    uscd^  to   think   myself   smart.      I   used   to  plan 
great  things  that   I  would  do  and  be.     Meant  to 


»26      /IN    UIVCR O I! 'i\E I)   .':IUEEN 


become   famous,    tavtr  doubtinj;  that    I    had  the 
power.      But   it    is  over.      The    mist   has   cleared 
away,  and   I  dream   no  l()nj,ar,  though   I   am  only 
twenty-one  years  old.      II   it  be  true  that  we  have 
need  to  s.iy.  '(^od  help  us  when  we  think  ourselves 
strong.'  I  believe  tlxu  the  o|)|)osite  is  equally  true; 
nay,  that  we  need  Him  most  when  most  distrusting 
our  own  capabilities.      ,\nd   I   have  come  to  this 
point:    I   think  myself  not  good,  not  gifted  in  any 
way.      I  can  not  see  why  I  should  be  loved,  why  I 
should  hope  for  myself  a  beautiful  and  happy  life, 
or  a  glorious  inmiortality  at  its  close.      Never  be- 
fore in  all  my  life  have  I  held  myself  at  so  cheap  a 
rate  as  since   I  came  home  this  last  time.      It  is 
a  query  with  me.  however,  whether  really  I  amount 

to  so  little  as  I  think Jump  into  the  scales, 

F.  E.  W.,  in  honesty  as  before  God,  I  say  it 
reverently,  you  shall  be  weigh :d  U'hot  v.-u  bt-- 
licve  of  yourself  is  vital  to  you. 

"Let  others  think  as  they  will,  if  you  feel  'the 
victory  in  you'  as  my  father  says,  all  things  are 
possible.  Then  deal  generously  with  yourself;  let 
not  overweening  modesty  (of  which  I  think  you 
have  never  been  accused)  cause  you  to  pass  lightly 
over  any  redeeming  traits  you  may  possess.  Let 
us  have  just  weights  and  measurements  in  all 
respects.      Beginning  at   the    lowest    and  yet  the 


THE    TKACJIER 


127 


highest  (Icpartnunt .  Ici  the  paradox  go  uncxplainc-cli 
yoii  arc   not  iK-autitul.  nor  pretty,  nor  even  g'^od 
looking.      There   is   th.    bald   fact    for  you,    make 
what  you  can  of  it.      And  yet  lofTsel  no  1 )  you  are 
not  disagreeable  nor  unpleasant,  either  in  face  or 
figure.      You  have  no  shocking  defects   in  respect 
to  personal    appearance,    and    that    is   something. 
Your  expression   is.  perhaps,   rather  resohite  than 
otherwise,  and  naturally,  perhaps  artfully,  you  tell 
but   little  with  your  face.      In   manner  you  are  re- 
ser\'ed  toward  those  to  whom  you  feel   indifferent. 
You  are  too  much  inclined  to  moods,  and  yet  you 
are  as  a  rule  exceedingly  careful  not  to  wound  the 
feelings  of  others,  and  you  intend  to  be  deferential 
toward  those  you  think  superiors,  kind  to  your  in- 
feriors,  and   cordial  with   your  equals.      You   arc 
hardly  natural  enough  when  in  society,  and  have  a 
certain  air  of  self-consciousness  sometimes  that  ill 
becomes  you.      However,  as  you  think  much  upon 
the  subject,  it  is  not   unlikely  that  by  and  by  your 
manner  will  assume  the  half-cordial,  half-dignified 
character    that    accords    best    with    your    nature. 
You  have  a  good  mind,  but  one  not  evenly  balanced 
or  developed.      Your  perceptions  are  rather  quick, 
your  memory  on  the  whole  unusual,   imagination 
good,  reasoning  faculties  verv  fair;  your  judgment 
in  practical  matters  not  extraordinary,  but  elsewhere 


«  ML, 


128      AN   UNCKOIVNED   ^^UEEN 


cxcclk'nt.     Your  nature  i:  appreciative;    you  are 
not  cross-grained.      You  feel  with  a  surprising  and 
almost  painful  quickness.      An  innuendo  or  'double 
entendre'  smites  you  like  a  blow.      Youi   nature, 
though  not  of  an  emotional  cast,  is  not  unfeeling. 
Vou  lack  the  all-embracing  love  for  man  cs  man 
that  is  so  noble  and  admirable,  yet  the  few  friencis 
that  you  count   among  your  treasures  have  more 
devotion  from  you  than  they  dream  of,  doubtless, 
for  your  love  for  them  approaches  idolatr>-.      And 
yet   your   affections   are    completely    under   your 
control,  are  never  suffered  to  have  'their  own  wild 
way,'    and   they   fix  themselves  only   upon   those 
objects,   among   the  many  that  might  be  chosen, 
where  they  are  manifestly  desired.      As  for  your 
will.    I    cannot   find  out   whether  it    is  strong   or 
weak.      I  hardly  think  it  particularly  powerful,  and 
yet  there  is  something  about  you  for  which  I  hardly 
know   how  to   account   on   any  other  supposition. 
There  is  a  sort  of  independence  and  self-reliance 
that  gives  the  idea  of  will  and  yet  is  not  rcallv 
such.      However  the  facts  may  be  on  this  point,  I 
think  you  would  not  be  accounted  a  negative  char- 
acter.     For  the  religious  qualities  of  your  mind, 
you    are    not    particularly    conscientious,   you    are 
rather    inclined    to    skepticism    and    haunted    by 
thoughts  of  unbelief. 


THE    TEACHER 


1:9 


"The  .usthctics  of  Christianity  have  rather  a 
large  measure  in  your  creed,  both   theoretical  and 
practical,  and  yet  you  have  right  wishes  and  great 
longinc-'-     .tcr  a  pure  and  holy  life.      The  conclu- 
sion- d.ar  me.  \   r on't  make  you  out  half  as  bad 
as    I    ,,,i  vou  out; tit  to  be!      Placed  in  the  scale 
againsi    \our   !;•  .-.utiful.    ideal   character  by  which 
you  would  fain  mold  yourself,  you  would  kick  the 
beam  quickly  enough,  but   somehow  my  amscwus- 
>uss  affirms  that  the  picture  I   have  drawn  has  not 
all  the  shades  it  merits.      In  a  spasmodic  wav  you 
are  generons.  yet  beneath  this  sr//s/on-ss  is  deJply 
rooted  in  your  heart.      You  are  not  a  bit  natural'; 
you  are  somewhat  original,  but  have  not  energy  nor 
persistency  enough   ever  to  excel,  I    fear.      How- 
ever, you   have   some   faculty   as   a  writer;   less   I 
candidly   think  than  you  had  a  year  ago  (that   is 
encouraging).      Well,  on  the  whole.  I  do  not  seem 
to  make  you  out  so  poor  and  commonplace  as  I 
thought  you  ought  to  be.  and  perhaps  if  you  keep 
your  eyes  wide  open  to  your  faults,  and  God  will 
help  you.  you  may  come  yet  to  be  rather  good  than 
bad.      For  th..,.  thank  God  and  take  courage.      But 
oh.  forget  what  you  will.  Frances,  my  best   friend 
in  all  the  world,  ask  the  mighty  infinite  Helper  to 
model  you  l)v  his  plans.  /<■/  ///rw  /;,■  :.■//.?/  //uj  :,•!//, 
so    that   every  year   you   may  grow   'calmer  and 


I  JO      .IN   UNCROWNED   ^')UEEN 


calmer.'  richer  in  love  and  peacefulncss;  and  for- 
getting the  poor  dreams  of  less  thoughtful  years, 
have  this,  and  this  only,  for  your  ambition:  to  be 
gentle,  kindly,  and  forgiving,  full  of  charity  which 
suffer-'th  long,  and  patience  which  's  pleasing  in 
the  sight  of  God  and  man." 

On  the  next  page  of  the  journal,  Mary  took  the 
liberty   of    penning  the   following   lines:     "I   hope 
Miss  Willard.  though   she  l)e   not  conscious  of  it, 
does  not  hold  herself  at  such  a  low  rate  as  some  of 
the   foregoing  remarks  would   incline  one  to  think 
she  did.      When  she  calls  herself  neither  beautiful, 
pretty,  nor  gootl  looking.  I  think  she  errs,  as  I  am 
of  the  opinion   she  does  come  under  one  of  these 
heads;  ot   course  I    shall   not  say  which  one,  how- 
ever.     I    think  she   is  ri;;ht  when   she  affirms  that 
she   has  a  g'   -d   mind,  but   she   contradicts  this  in 
the  next  breath,  at  least  this  might  be  readily  in- 
ferred.     1  must  say  that  in  her  dissertation  on  her 
affections,  I    notice   nothing   that  would   convey  to 
the  average  mind   the  overpowering  affection   she 
cherishes  for  her  sister!      It  may  have  been  mod- 
esty that  prevented  her  from  mentioning  this.      I 
cannot   tell.      I    have  great   interest   in  both   these 
young  ladies,  Miss  \S .  and  her  younger  sister,  and 
though  my  heart  'yearns'  more  for  the  younger  of 
the  two,  1   cannot  say  l)ut  that  my  affection  for 


THE    TE.ICIIEK 


'^r 


both  is  unboundccl.  Hopinj;  that  Miss  W.  will 
take  no  offense  at  my  remarks,  1  remain,  hers  very 
truly."  ^ 

With  her  study  of  herself,  Miss  Willard,  at  the 
age    of    twenty-one,    found    herself    also    studving 
human  nature  in  general  and  society  at  large,  and 
longing,  with  a  desire  that  was  not  to  be  put  aside, 
to  come  in  direct  touch  with  the  great  world,  and 
in  some  degree  lend  her  influence  toward  making 
it  better.      "What   am    1    doing.'"    she    questions. 
"Whose  cares  do  I  relieve.'    Who  is  wiser,  better, 
or  happier  because  I  live.'     Nothing  would  go  on 
differently  without   me,  unless,  as    I    remarked   to- 
day to  Mary  with  bitter  playfulness,  the  front  stairs 
might   not   be    swept   so  often.      Now,    these   are 
awful  thoughts.      But  come,  let  us  reason  together. 
What  more  could   I  do  if  I  would.'  ....   There 
are  no  younger  brothers  and  sisters  to  be  cared  for 
as  is   the  case   in  many  homes.      Mother  does  not 
work,    she   says,    more   than   is  healthful    for   her, 
keeping  the  front  room  in  order  and  giving  instruc- 
tions to  'Belinda'  (father's  invariable  name  for  a 
'lady-  in  subordinate  capacity i.      Evanston  has  no 
poor  people.      Nobody  seems  to  need  me.      In  my 
present  position  there  is  actually  nothing  I   might 
do  that   I  do  not,  except  to  sew  a  little  and  make 
cake!     Now  that  is  the  tact.      1  may  acknowledge 


i.]i      ./X    /  AY;A'0//A7'.7)    }-yLlEEi\[ 


a  Iccliiif;  (.1  luiiiiiliation  as  I  sec  so  i  a-  how  well 
the  world  can  pare  me.  But  pr.  .p^'l  may  be 
neefled  some  (L'u.  and  am  only  waiting  tor  the 
crisis.  Who  can  tL-il.'  We  are  told  that  God,  in 
lii^  wisdom,  makes  nothing  in  vain.  Ihus  having 
niorali/e<l,  1  lean  hack  in  my  easy-chair  and  resume 
the  reading  of  Poe's  ghastly  tales,  which,  with  a 
little  twinge  of  conscience  at  the  tlunight  of  my 
uselessness,  I  laid  aside  a  moment  ago." 

In    lur  study  of   social    conditions,  she  was   im- 
pressed with   the  lot  of   man}   who  belonged   to  the 
class   railed    "conunonplace   people,"    refined   and 
cultured  perscjns  cast  bv  the  iron  hand  of  necessity 
into    a    mold    which    seemed    too   hard    for   them'. 
"These    people,"  she    wrote,   "whose    souls  sit    on 
the  ends  of   their  nerves,  and  to  whom  a  cold   look 
or   a   shghting  word    is   like    frost    to   the   flower— 
(iod   pitv  them!      TlKy  are   like  the  raie  porcelain 
out    of    which     beautilul    v.ises     are    made.      The 
coarser   natures  whose  nerves,  after  coming  to  the 
surface  bend  back  again,  can  no  more  comprehend 
their   finely   constituted   brethren  than    1   can  con- 
ceive  of   a  sixtu    sense 1    have   called  at 

bouses  where  in  the  room  a  girl  sat  sewing,  more 
Iieautiful,  graceful,  and  well-bred  than  my  hostess 
ever  dared  to  be,  \  et  she  has  taken  no  more  notice 
of  this  girl  than  if  she  were  a  brute,  nor  attracted 


THE    TEACHER 


1.^3 


my  attention  to  her  by  an  introduction,  or  the  faint- 
est indication  of  one.  though  dcscantins;  clocjucntly 
on  the  virtues  of  the  sleek  skye-terrier  at  her  side. 
The  poor  and  the  unlovely  fare  hardly  in  this  world 
of  ours.  Climb  the  ladder  yourself  to  enviable 
distinction,  or  reach  a  comfort:,  jle  mediocrity  bv 
vour  own  exertions,  and  you  will  be  treated  with 
all-iufficient  consideration,  but  while  you  are  climb- 
ing, look  only  for  cold  indifference  at  best,  and  if 
you  begin  to  stagger  or  fall,  then  kicks  and  cuffs 
will  shower  upon  you  with  an  energy  surprising  to 
contemplate.  Oh  that  I  were  a  Don  Quixote  in  a 
better  cause  than  his,  or  even  Sancho  Panza  to 
some  mighty  spirit,  who  I  trust  will  come  upon  the 

earth   some  day I    hate   the   sjiirit  in  any 

one  that  seeks  to  gain  the  notice  of  the  influential 
in  society  by  fawning,  or  undue  attention  of  anv 
sort.  1  love  a  brave,  strong  character  that  walks 
the  earth  with  the  step  of  a  king,  and  an  eye  that 
docs  not  quail  before  anything  except  its  own  dis- 
honor. All  cannot  do  this,  but  there  are  some 
who  can.  The  man,  woman,  or  child  that  makes 
me  uncomfortable,  that  stabs  me  with  an  unc!e- 
served  reproach  or  rebuke,  that  dwells  upon  my 
faults  like  a  fly  upon  an  ulcer,  that  slights  me  or 
needlessly  wounds  me  in  any  way — that  man  or 
woman  or  child  I  may  forgive;  :;iit  onlv  through 


134     AN   UNCROWNED   ^UEEN 


God's  spirit  striving  with  my  wrath.  I  will  shun 
thc-m,  and  in  my  heart  I  must  despise  them,  and 
this,  not  because  I  am  weak  or  clinging,  according 
to  the  views  of  some  people,  but  because,  be  I 
weak  or  strong,  I  will  stand  up  for  justice  so  long 
as  I  have  power;  and  hereby  I  declare  that  I  will 
speak  more  kindl}-  and  considerately  to  those  whose 
claims  are  unrecognized  by  the  society  in  which  I 
live  than  I  wili  to  any  others.  I  will  1)ow  more 
cordially  to  those  to  whom  persons  of  position  do 
not  bow  at  all.  and  I  will  try  in  a  thousand  ways 
to  make  them  happier.  God  help  me  to  keep  my 
promise  good," 

With  her  spirit  of  independence,  her  desiic  to 
hve  a  life  with  a  purpose,  and  her  constant  longing 
to  help  make  the  world  better  ai.d  happier,  it  was 
an  impossibility  for  Frances  Willard  to  live  an  inac- 
tive, dependent  life,  and  after  considering  the  mat- 
ter seriously  many  months,  she  determined,  in  spite 
of  hfr  father  s  serious  objections,  to  be  a  school 
teacher. 

Acting  in  accordance  with  this  decision,  she 
addressed  a  letter  to  the  superintendent  of  public 
schools  of  Cook  County.  Illinois,  making  applica- 
tion for  a  school. 

As  it  was  late  in  the  season  when  she  made  her 
application,   all  the  schools  but  one— a  little  red 


THE    TF..1CIIV.R 


'-^5 


school-house  in  the  country — had  been  supplied, 
and  she  was  advised  to  wait  until  tall,  hut  having 
decided  to  teach,  she  accepted  this  position,  and 
then  broke  the  news  to  her  father. 

He  was  thoroughly  displeased,  but  there  was 
.iOthing  to  be  done,  and  as  in  bygone  days,  he 
made  the  best  of  his  daughter's  act.  and  accom- 
panied her  to  the  station  which  she  was  to  leave  for 
the  country  school. 

She  was  met.  upon  her  arrival,  In-  a  man  attired 
in  blue  overalls,  red  shirt,  with  sleeves  rolled  to  the 
elbows,  slouch  hat,  and  wearing  long  black  hair, 
who  addressed  her  with  the  inquiry.  "Is  this  the 
new  school  niarm?"  and  who  introduced  himself  as 
a  director. 

Having  had  grave  apprehensions  of  the  propriety 
of  the  undertaking  before,  Mr.  Willard  was  now 
more  than  ever  convinced  that  women  folks  should 
stay  home  with  their  husbands  and  fathers,  and 
whispering  to  Frances,  said.  "See  now  what 
you've  got  yourself  inu  "  thinking,  perhaps,  that 
at  the  eleventh  hour  she  would  return  home. 

But  she  had  no  notion  of  returning,  and  bid- 
ding him  good  by,  she  went  with  the  man  in  a  red 
shirt  to  the  little  school-house,  wlicre  she  found  the 
boys  who  had  already  assembled  had  been  enjoying 
themselves  fighting  and  bieaking  ilie  windows. 


136     AN   UNCROIVNED   ^^UEEN 


This  being  the  case,  there  was  something  in 
their  act  of  choosing  as  an  opening  song  "I  Want 
to  Be  an  Angel"  that  caused  Frances  to  smile. 

The    trials    and    tribulations,    as   well    as    the 

triumphs  and  joys  that  go  to  make  the  experience 

of  a  country  school  teacher,  came  to  Frances  in 

her   first    endeavor.      She  was    adored    by   some, 

admired  by  some,  and  a  few  insubordinates  feared 

her  discipline  after  she  had.  unaided,  vanquished 

one  of  the  larger  i;oys  who  tried  to  get  the  better 

of  her  by  force  of  muscular  strength,   but   there 

were  few  who  did  not  love  her  when  she  left  the 

school  at  the  close  of  a  successful  term;  and  while 

the  time  had  been  short,  and  the  school  small,  she 

had  been  given  an  opportunity  to  try  herself,  and 

returned  to  her  home  more  than  ever  determined 

to  push  her  way  onward  and  upward  in  the  great 

world. 


CHAPTER  XII 

After  resting  a  few  months  at  home,  during 
which   time   an    application   had    been   put  in   for 
another  position  as  teacher.  Miss  Willard  took  a 
second  school,  which  gave  promise  of  being  as  hard 
to  teach  as  the  school  would  be  she  seemed   to 
expect  when  she  wrote:   "If  I  become  a  teacher  in 
some  school  that   I  do  not  like;   if   I  go  away  alone 
and  try  what  I  myself  can  do  and  suffer,  and  am 
tired  and  lonesome;  if  I  am  in  a  position  where  I 
must  have  all  '.he  responsibility  myself,  and  must 
be    alternate'v  the   hammer  that   strikes   and   the 
anvil  that  bears,  but  always  one  of  them— I  think 
I  may  grow  to  be  strong  and  earnest  in  practice. 
as  I  have  always  tried  to  be  in  theory.     So  here 
goes  for  a  fine  character.     If  I  were  not  intent 
upon  it,   I  could  live  contented  here  at  Swamp- 
scott   .11  my  days." 

So  she  left  her  comfortable  home  a  second  time 
and  went  into  the  world  as  a  bread-winner,  building 
up  the  character  she  counted  of  such  priceless 
value,  making  friends  and  gaining  the  rich  experi- 
ence that  can  only  come  to  those  of  like  purpose 
and  determination. 

»37 


i.^S      //.V    UNCROU'XED   ylUEF.N 


After  tcachin^^  schools  in  different  places  until 
she  had  proven  her  ability  to  her  own  satisfaction, 
she  souf^ht  a  position  in  the  public  school  of  Evans- 
ton,  a|)plyin/;  in  person  to  one  of  the  directors  whom 
she  happened  to  meet  on  the  street  one  dav. 

"Are  you  sure  ♦'lat  you  can  do  it.  Frank?"  he 
inquired,  thumping;  his  cane  seriously  on  the  pave- 
ment, for  the  position  was  an  honorable  one,  and 
accordingly  responsible. 

"Try  me  and  see."  she  answered,  confidently; 
and  a  few  weeks  later  she  found  herself  in  the  most 
responsible  position  she  had  yet  tilled.  "This  is 
the  hardest  work  I  have  done  yet,"  she  writes; 
"there  are  two  rooms,  eighty  pupils,  thirty-two 
classes,  of  which  we  teachers  have  six  apiece  that 
are  high.  I  study  on  my  mathematics  all  the  time 
I  can  possibly  get  out  of  school  hours.  I  have 
algebra,  and  arithmetic  away  over  in  the  back  part 
c5  the  book.  It  is  almost  impossible  to  keep 
order,  but  we  do  our  best,  and  have  /lopc,  though 
every  night  we  ac/ic. ' ' 

Some  of  the  larger  boys  in  this  school  gave 
trouble  at  first,  objecting  strongly  to  being  under 
control  of  the  young  woman  who  was  their  teacher. 
One  day  Miss  Willard  found  it  necessary  to  enforce 
some  discipline  with  a  stick,  but  when  the  boys  saw 
her  coming  in  their  direction,  forgetting  their  boast- 


THE    TEACH KR 


•J9 


ings,  thty  hotli   vauhcd  out  an  open  window,  and 
never  returned  to  the  scene  of  their  disgrace. 

Herself  fond  of  music,  and  heheving  in  its  magic 
powers,  especially  in  a  restless  school-room,  she 
had  lur  children  sing  often,  one  song  especially 
pleasing  her.  for  as  the  voices  of  the  children 
united  in  the  words: 

"Listen  to  the  patter  of  the  raindrops  overhead, 
To  the  patter,  patter,  patter  of  the  raindrops  overhead," 

their  fingers  drummed  gently  on  their  desks,  mak- 
ing sweetest  music. 

Toward  the  last  of  this  most  important  of  her 

schools,  she  says:   "School  goes  verv  well,  is  very 

hard,  but  can  be  compassed.      Some  of  the  pupils 

I  love.      I  play  ball  with  them  at  recess,  and  'spell 

them  down'    myself,    or  take  one  'side'   and  put 

them  in  competition  with  me  on  the  other,  to  enliven 

the    proceedings.      At  devotions   in  the   morning. 

when   I   read  and  pray  before  them.    I   feel  their 

weight  a  little,  and  a  thrilling  desire  to  help  them 

toward  eternal  life.      It  is  hard  for  me  to  conduct 

religious  devotions,  yet   I   prize  the  possibility  of 

doing  good." 

While  teaching  a  former  school  away  from  home 
frequent  letters  from  the  family  brought  news  of 
Mary's  illness,  and  Frances  writes:  "Father  says 
that    Mary    has    been    ill,    something    resembling 


I40     AN    UNCR  OIF  NED   .<;)  UEEN 


typlioid  fever.      That  is  wliy  she  did  not  write.      I 
am  worried  about   it,  poor  child.      I  love  my  sister 
almost  as  I  love  iiivself.  I  think   she  is  even  nearer 
to  me.  thoiinji   n(;t  dearer,  than  my  mother.      She 
seems  a  part  of  my  heart.      We  have  been  to^etlier 
all  onr  lives;    I  have  no  secrets  from   her,  none  in 
the  world.      I  admire  her  for  her  frank,  in/^enuous 
manner,  her  pleasant,  pretty  face,  anfi  fine  fi<;ure. 
I   love  her  for  her  true,  ^ood   heart,  her  intellect, 
and   her  stront;.  <;ood  sense, but  most  of  all    for  her 
unvielilinn-    conscientiousness,    her     firm    religious 
character,  her  entire  devotion  to  truth  and  righteous- 
ness.     'Absence    makes    my    lieart    grow    fonder' 
toward  her  and  toward  them  all.    (^,od  jjitv  me  if  anv 
evil  should  befall  her!      If  she  should  lie  cut  down 
in  her  youth  and  prime,  while  the  bloom  is  on  her 
cheek,  the   light  in  her  eve.  and   the  luster  on  lier 
brown    hair— I    cannot   conceive    of    anvthing    so 
terrible.      God  will  not  curse  me  so.      He  will  not 
send  such  a  blight  over  my  life  and  my  mother's. 
She  is  mother's  youngest  child.      I  cannot  bear  to 
think  of  it;   it  makes  me  shudder." 

A  reference  to  her  sister's  illness,  during  the 
time  she  taught  in  Evanston.  reads:  "Marv  getting 
!)etter  very  slowly— it  is  a  painfully  familiar  sight  — 
her  thin  face  on  the  pillow  when  I  come  in  from 
school.     We  talked  a  little,  she  and  I.  ahniit  old 


77/ A    TEICHI-.R 


141 


tiriKs  at  hoiiK',  htlorc  any  of  ii^  had  other  lovi-s 
than  those  dear  ones  there.  She  said,  'I  have 
never  been  so  luippv  as  when  we  used  to  keep 
store  under  tlie  trees,  and  '^u  walking;  with  father 
and  inotiier  in  the  orchard  and  pasture.  Just 
think,  Frank,  of  the  vine  ail  over  tlie  house,  of  the 
splendid  well,  the  ever>;reens,  the  animals  of  all 
sorts,  and  the  dear  old  barn!"  She  is  so  an.xious 
to  ^^o  back;  says  she  shall  never  ^ct  well  unless  we 
take  her  home.  Just  as  soon  as  she  can  bear  it, 
mother  will  go  with  her." 

But  Mary  did  not  i;row  stronf,'  enough  to  be 
taken  to  Forest  Home:  instead,  she  called  Frances 
olten  to  her  bedsick;.  and  ti.xing  her  head  comfort- 
ably on  her  pillow,  would  say,  "Xowtalk  of  Forest 
Home. "  and  Frances  would  describe  the  flowers 
that  bloomed  in  the  meadow,  the  birds  that  sang 
in  the  tops  of  the  trees  by  the  river,  the  pets,  and 
the  picnics,  and  if  she  forgot  something  that  lin- 
gered pleasantly  in  the  younger  girl's  memory,  Mary 
would  say,  "Don't  you  remember,"  and  she  her- 
self would  talk  a  few  minutes,  often  of  the  river,  of 
how  blue  it  was,  and  how  gently  it  slipped  away 
over  the  stones. 

Mr.  Willard  was  in   business  in  Chicago  at  this 
time,  and  upon  his  return  from  tlie  city  each  even- 

,       L-'on  I    v'uu    iiiiuk    i   iook 


mg,    M: 


would 


142      AN   UNCROWNED   f^UEEN 


better?  I've  been  very  careful  all  day,  have 
obeyed  every  one  of  the  doctor's  orders.  Can't  I 
go  to  Forest  Home  a  week  from  now?  Carry  me 
on  a  bed;  I  don't  care  how  I  go,  for  I  think  it 
would  make  me  well  again  just  to  breathe  the  air 
that  made  me  feel  strong  and  happy  when  I  was  a 
little  girl,"  and  she  told  her  mother  which  dress 
she  wished  to  wear  on  the  cars,  and  what  she  in- 
tended to  do  first  when  she  arrived  at  the  old 
home. 

During  her  sickness  her  mind  seemed  continu- 
ally dwelling  on  the  scenes  of  her  childhood,  and 
she  said  one  day,  "I  want  to  be  a  child  always. 
In  heaven  I  should  like  to  be  a  child  angel." 

Mrs.  Willard  called  to  her  mind  many  of  the 
pleasures  of  young  womanhood,  but  these  were 
losing  their  charm.  "O  yes.  I  know,"  she  said. 
'  'but  of  late  it  seems  so  sweet  to  be  a  child.  You 
know  the  pleasant  times  we  had.  How  well  I  like 
to  think  of  the  Indian  summer  days,  when  the 
woods  were  so  golden,  and  the  distance  so  blue. 
Do  you  remember  the  plaintive  little  song  of  the 
mourning-dove  in  the  trees  near  the  Big  Ravine? 
It  would  make  me  cry,  I  think,  to  hear  it  now." 

As  she  lay  with  flushed  cheeks  and  aching  head 
upon  her  pillow,  there  was  nothing  that  gave  Mary 
such  pleasure  as  living  again  the  wild,  free  days  of 


THE   TEACHER 


H3 


her  childhood,  unless  it  was  listening  quietly  while 
Frances  read  to  her  from  the  Bible,  and  the  por- 
tions she  found  especially  restful  were  those  descrip- 
tions of  the  times  when  Jesus,  with  his  great  heart 
of  sympathy  and  infinite  love,  came  nearest  to 
suffering  humanity. 

During  the  days  that  she  was  ill,  many  friends 
visited  her,  getting  into  the  habit  of  talking  softly 
while  they  stayed,  and  bidding  her  a  fond  farewell 
on  leaving,  as  if  they  might  not  find  her  on  another 
visit. 

Once  in  the  lingering  clasp  of  a  hand,  and 
the  trembling  pressure  of  the  lip  of  a  dear  friend 
who  was  going  away,  something  of  this  thought 
came  to  Mary  herself. 

"Mother,"  she  said,  "she  kissed  me  last,  and 
so  much  longer  than  she  did  any  one  else,  what  was 
that  for.?"  and  turning  her  face  away,  she  let  the 
hot  tears  run  over  her  cheeks,  for  life  was  still  very 
dear  to  her,  and  death  strange  and  terrible. 

Yet  the  family,  whose  eyes  were  blinded  by 
love,  ministered  to  her  wants  each  day,  eagerly 
looking  for  signs  of  a  recovery,  and  making  happy 
plans  for  the  days  when  she  would  be  well  and 
strong  again. 


One   night,    on  saying   farewell    to    a    friend, 


144      ^N   UNCROWNED   ^^UEEN 


Mary  said,  "Pray  that  I  need  not  coug'-  much, 
and  that  mother  and  I  may  have  a  beautiful  sleep, 
and  that,  if  God  is  willing,  I  may  grow  strong 
again." 

But  she  did  not  rest  this  night,  and  all  the  night 
she  kept  Frances  and  Mrs.  Willard  talking  of  the 
shaded  restful  woods  near  her  childhood  home,  and 
the  river  that  glided  so  gently  over  the  stones  on  its 
long  course  to  the  distant  ocean. 

When  the  early  sunbeams  came,  and  the  cur- 
tains were  raised,  Mary's  face  looked  pale  and 
strange.  The  bright  red  spots  were  fading  from 
her  cheeks,  the  fever  cooling  in  her  hot  hands. 

Then  it  was,  after  the  death  angel  had  already 
set  his  seal  upon  her,  that  the  family  knew  that 
Mary  was  going  awa}'. 

Raising  her  tired  head  to  his  breast,  her  father 
said,  "Mary,  if  I  should  tell  you  that  God  wanted 
you  to  go  to  him,  how  would  you  feel?" 

After  a  moment's  pause,  she  answered:   "I  did 

not  think  that  I  should  die — I  am  so  young but  if 

God  wants  me  I  don't  think  I  should  be  much 
afraid,  but  I  would  say,  'Take  me,  God.'  " 

"Does  Christ  seem  near  to  you.'"  Mrs.  Willard 
asked  her. 

' '  I  see  him  a  little,  but  he  seems  a  good  way 
off,"  she  replied,  and  then,  looking  into  the  faces 


THE    TEACHER 


'45 


of  those  she  loved,  she  said.  "Please  tell  me  if  you 
think  I  have  been  good. ' ' 

With  trembling  voices  they  told  her  she  had 
been  good—always  sweet  and  patient—but  the 
words  were  not  satisfying.  "I  wish  Christ  would 
come  nearer, ' '  she  said. 

"Shall  we  pray  to  him.'"  Frances  asked. 

"Yes,  pray— pray  thankful  prayers."  she  an- 
swered, eagerly,  and  beside  her  sister's  bed,  Frances 
prayed  as  she  had  never  done  that  the  Comforter 
would  come  close  to  the  trembling  soul  that  stood 
on  the  threshold  of  eternity. 

While  they  \verc  praying  Mary  clasped  her 
hands,  saying,  joyfully.  "Oh.  he  has  come!  He 
has  con-!  He  holds  me  by  the  hand!"  and  with 
the  words  the  last  trace  of  fear  passed  away  for- 
ever. 

After  this  her  mother  asked  her  if  she  had  a 
message  for  anybody,  and  this  message  was,  ' '  Tell 
everybody  to  be  good." 

Like  a  little  boat  riding  softly  over  the  waves  of 
a  great,  gentle  ocean  to  a  shore  so  far  away  no  eye 
can  see  it,  Marv's  life  was  now  slipping  out  from 
the  shore  line  of  Time  toward  the  beautiful  shores 
of  the  land  of  Eternal  Life. 

Frances  now  knew  that  her  beloved  sister  would 
soon  he  asleep— forever  asleep  in  the  long,  long 


146     AN   UNCROWNEB   ^UEEN 


sleep  from  which  none  ever  waken  in  this  world, 
and  as  she  had  done  before  the  brief  nights  of  their 
childhood  days,  she  said,  "Mar>' will  you  forgive 
mc  for  all  that  has  been  unkind  in  my  conduct 
toward  you?" 

Turning  her  wonderful  dark  eyes  on  her  sister's 
face,  Mary  said,  "I  forgive  you,  since  you  ask  it, 
but  oh.  you  were  always  good,  you  were  never 
unkind." 

Then  she  turned  her  eyes  from  her  sister's  face 
to  the  open  window,  through  which  she  could  see 
the  bright  world  outside. 

The  morning  sun  was  flooding  the  earth  with 
glory.  The  green  trees  lifted  their  splendid 
branches  proudly  to  the  blue  sky,  against  which 
fleecy  clouds  floated  gently,  while  hidden  in  their 
boughs  a  chorus  of  birds  poured  out  their  joyful 
morning  carol. 

As  she  gazed  through  the  window,  Maiy's  eyes 
took  on  new  light,  and  she  seemed  to  be  seeing  sights 
that  her  eye  had  never  before  seen,  as  if  the  glory 
of  the  sunlight  were  the  glory  of  the  Sun  of  Right- 
eousness; as  if  the  glossy  trees  were  growing  by 
the  River  of  Life;  as  if  the  fleecy  clouds  were  the 
wings  of  the  angel  band  that  had  come  for  her,  and 
the  bird  song  a  welcome  chorus  they  were  singing. 
As    the    scene    grew    brighter,    she    suddenly 


THE   TEACHER 


147 


stretched  out  her  hands,  exclaiming,  eagerly, 
"Now  take  me— quick— dear  God— take  me!'' 
and  the  next  moment  the  great  change  had  taken 
place. 

The  family  fireside  had  its  vacant  chair. 


CHAPTER    XIII 

"  'Mary  is  dead!'  I  write  the  sentence — stop 
and  look  at  it — do  not  know  what  it  means.  For 
God  is  merciful,  and  the  awful  truth  of  my  deso- 
lation does  not  shut  down  close  around  me  all  the 
time;  it  comes  in  paroxysms  and  goes  again." 
Thus  Frances  expressed  herself  after  her  sister's 
death,  which  was  the  great  refining  sorrow  of  her 
life. 

After  death  had  made  the  first  great  break  in  the 
family  circle,  the  Willard  family  were  so  heart- 
broken that  a  few  weeks  later  the  home  was  given 
up,  and  Frances  went  as  "Preceptress  of  the 
Natural  Sciences"  to  the  Northwestern  Female 
College,  where  she  had  been  a  pupil  three  years 
before. 

For  one  so  young,  the  distinction  thus  gained 
was  quite  notable,  but  Frances,  in  the  dark  shadow 
of  her  first  great  sorrow,  thought  not  of  the  achieve- 
ment, but  wrote  of  it:  "I  am  elected  'Preceptress 
of  Natural  Sciences. '  Very  humbly  and  sincerely 
I  pray  to  God  that  I  may  be  good  and  do  good.  I 
was  wild  and  wicked  as  a  pupil;  in  the  same  build- 
ing may  I  be  consistent  and  a  Christian  as  a  teacher. 

14S 


THE    TEACHER 


149 


The  last  days  arc  passing  in  this  I)roken  home. 
Life  changes  so.  Thy  heart  must  ache  for  us.  O 
God,  but  that  thou  knowest  we  are  soon  to  enter 

the  unchanging  home Help  me  to  act  right 

in  these,  my  new  relations!  I  want  to  live  a  good 
life,  and  get  ready  to  go  to  my  sister  in  heaven.  I 
am  afraid  that  Mary's  death  will  kill  mv  mother." 
After  moving  into  her  college  home,  she  writes: 
"Sitting  in  my  room  at  the 'Female  College.'  a 
teacher,  regularly  installed  in  a  ladies'  school. 
The  sensation  is  agreeable.  I  have  a  natural  love 
of  girls,  and  to  have  them  around  me  as  pupils  and 

friends    will     be    delightful After    school 

hours  I  ached— there  are  so  many  flights  of  stairs, 
forty  in  a  day.  or  more.  Went  home  at  dinner 
time.  Father  and  mother  are  soon  to  go  away. 
O  mother,  with  your  sad.  sad  face,  and  your  black 
dress!  Heaven  has  much  to  restore  to  vou  for  all 
your  weary  years!  I  pray  God  to  show  me  how  I 
can  be  most  comforting  to  you.  how  I  can  fill  an 
only  daughter's  place.  Life  reaches  out  so  many 
hands  for  me,  with  manifold  voices.  I  am  in- 
tensely alive.  L  who  am  to  lie  so  still  and  cold 
beside  my  sister  Mary." 

Again  she  writes,  on  the  following  Sunday: 
"The  autumn  sunlight  is  pouring  in.  I  am  here, 
but  Mary,  who  was  always  with  me,  where  is  she.' 


^1 


ISO     AN   UNCROIVNED    <^UEEN 


The  question  mocks  me  with  its  own  echo.  Where 
is  she  who  was  so  merr>',  who  knew  the  people  that 
I  know,  who  studied  the  books  that  I  study,  who 
liked  'Bleak  House, '  who  laughed  at  Micawber  and 
Traddles,  and  read  the  Dai/f  Tribune}  Where  is 
she  who  picked  up  pebbles  with  me  by  the  lake,  and 
ran  races  with  me  in  the  garden;  who  sang  '  Juanita' 
and  'Star  Spangled  Banner'?  She  was  so  much 
aliv<N   I  cannot  think  of  her  as  disembodied  and 

^'""'"'^  ^t'" Then,  too,  I  am  coming  right 

straight  on  to  the  same  doom;  I,  who  sit  here  this 
bright  morning,  with  carefully  made  toilet,  attentive 
eyes,  ears  open  to  every  sound,  I,  with  my  thou- 
sand thoughts,  my  steady  beating  heart,  shall  lie 
there  so  still,  so  cold,  and  for  so  long.  It  is  coming 
toward  me  every  moment,  such  a  fate  as  that! 
But  my  religion  tells  me  that  my  life  shall  be  un- 

^"•^''"S How  much   a  human    heart   can 

bear,  and  how  it  can  adjust  itself!  Four  months 
ago  to-day,  I  thought  if  Maiy  died  I  should  be 
crazed;  it  made  me  shiver  just  to  take  the  thought 
on  the  edge  of  my  brain;  and  yet  to-day  I  think  of 
Mary  dead  just  as  naturally  as  I  used  to  think  of 
her  as  living. ' ' 

During   the   time   she   spent    in    this   college 
Frances   led  a  busy  life,  looking  after  the  young 
ladies,  and   teaching   elocution,   zoology,   geology, 


THE    TEACHER 


M' 


physiolog>',  mineralogy,  mathematics,  and  history, 
and  though  many  of  her  thoughtful  moments  were 
given  to  questions  and  reflections  the  death  of  her 
sister  naturally  brought  about,  she  was  never 
gloomy;  but  on  the  other  hand,  as  her  pupils  de- 
clared, was  "full  of  fun." 

While  in  this  position,  the  question  as  to  whether 
she  was  always  to  be  a  teacher  often  confronted 
her,  the  old  love  for  writing  still  pressing  its  claims. 
"The  future  rises  before  me  misty,  dark,  moist, 
like  an  advancing  wave,"  she  writes.   "Steadily  I 
march  toward  it,  there  is  no  help,  and  God  is  in  it, 
God  who  manages  affairs.     My  soliloquy  was  'F. 
E.   W.,   why  do  you  plan  to  go  on  teaching  ad 
infinitum,   now  here,   now  there,   and  then  some 
other  where?     Why  do  you  content  yourself  with 
such  a  hedged-up  life,  with  acquiring    money  so 
slowly,  with  an  allotment  so  obscure.'     There  is  no 
need    of   it.      You    have    abilities    for    something 
beyond  this.     Don't  cheat  vourself   out  of  vour 
rights.     Do  you  know  that  sometimes  as  you  help 
arrange  the  room,  or  make  your  toilet,  or  take  your 
solitary  walks,   you  think  of  splendid  paragraphs 
that  you  never  write  out — idle  creature  that  you 
are.'     Do  you  know  that  new  and  striking  compari- 
sons come  to  you,  and  pleasant,  queer  ideas,  and 
you  let  them  pass  in  and  out,  leaving  not  even  a 


'5^      ^N   UNCROIVNED    <^UEEN 


sedimentary  deposit  there?     Stir  yourself;  be  deter- 
nnned  to  write  books  if  you  please.     Why  not' 
Be  intent  upon  it.      Your  flight  of  usefulness  might 
I't-  very  much  e.xtended.      God  thinks  it   right  to 
iKive  amI)itions;  you  are  on  the  earth,    now  deal 
^v.th   the  earthy:  'feel   tlie  victory  in  you.'  that   is 
your  father's  quaint,  expressive  phrase.      And  now 
to  be  pointed  and  make  the  application,  write  nexi 
year,  write.      It  is  nonsense  to  think  vou  cannot  do 
>t  while  you     re   teaching.      Vou  expect    to  visit 
Boston  in  the  summer.      Take  to  that  citv  an  essay 
on  the  writings  of  William  Mountfort,  an  essay  on 
a  tolerant  spirit,  a  novelette,  entitled  'Philip,'  and 
a  chastely  written   memoir  of  your  sister   Mary 
Now  do  this  without  fail.     You  can. '  " 

Of  these  literary  works,  one  made  its  appear- 
ance, being  the  memoir  of  her  sister  Marv.  written 
the  next  year,  while  Miss  Willard  was  te'aching  in 
the  Pittsburg  Female  College. 

The  position  in  this  school  was  secured  for  Miss 
VV.llard  through  the  influence  of  Bishop  Simpson 
whose  family  had  long  been  neighbors  to  the  Wil- 
lards  in  Evanston. 

Finding  Frances  heartsick  and  homesick  one 
day  for  the  members  of  her  family  that  had  scat- 
tered since  Mary's  death,  and  the  home  that  she 
loved,    Mrs.   Simpson  said  to  hnr     "ir.„_i.    :,   • 


THE    TE-ICIIER 


'5.^ 


absurd  for  you  to  stay  here  in  one  village  all  your 
clays.  My  husband  is  president  of  the  board  of 
trustees  of  Pittsburg  College;  it  is  a  fine.  large 
institution,  in  the  heart  of  a  leading  citv  noted  for 
the  remarkably  good  health  of  the  inhabitants. 
Now,  you  just  have  your  trunk  packed  and  be 
ready  to  start  within  a  week."  And  so  Frances 
went. 

In  this  institution  her  life  was  well  filled  with 
labors,  for  in  addition  to  her  regular  work,  she  was 
preparing  the  memoir  of  her  sister's  life,  entitled 
"Nineteen  Beautiful  Years." 

But  she  had  not  forgotten   the  keen  sorrow  of 
her  loss,  though  the  wound  in  her  heart  was  healing, 
and  many  times  let   her  thoughts  run  ])ack  to  the 
days  when  the  family  were  together.      She  also  felt 
some  power  tugging  at  her  soul  that  seemed  bound 
to  draw  her  away  from  the  paths  she  was  traveling 
yet  she  could  not  define  her  impressions,  and  no 
clear  vision  came  to  her.      "What  is  it. "  she  ques- 
tions,   "that    I    keep   wanting   to   say.'     It    never 
comes  to  my  lips,  nor  to  the  point  of  my  pen.     I 
am  almost  sure  that  God  does  not  mean  that  I  shall 
say  this  while   I   live  on  earth,  and  yet  it  stirs  in 
every  pulse,  it  lies  back  of  every  true  thought,  but 
it    has   never  yet   been   told.      Some  of   my  best 
essays  are  studies  for  it;    sentences  that   I   have 


154      ^N   UNCR  O  fry  ED   .'^  UE  E  .V 


hurriedly,  earnestly  spoken  to  a  friend's  soul  with 
which   for  the   hour    I   was  m  rapp  rt.  have  been 
Kucsscs  about   it;    the  kindling  eye  antl   flushing 
cheek  have  told  a  httle  of  it;  but  it  will  never  be 
uttered  right  out  loud,  except  in  deeds  of  happiness 
and  valor.    It  lives  on  in  my  heart  unsaid,  and  even 
in  my  prayers  unsaid.      It  comes  so  strangely  near 
me.  how  or  why  I  cannot  tell.      I  have  seen  in  the 
eyes  of  animals,   so  wistful,   so  hopelt  ,s   in  their 
liquid  depths,  some  hint   at  what   I   mean.      That 
mournful  flower,  the  gentian,  with  its  fringed  co- 
rolla, is  to  me  like  the  sweeping  eyelash  that  directs 
a  loving,  revealing  glance,  and  gives  a  new  hint  at 
that  which  I  can  feel,  but  cannot  tell.     The  drip- 
ping of  water  tries  to  spell  out  some  simple  words 
of  it,  and  the  blackbird's  note,  or  the  robin's  song. 
these   help   me  wonderfully.     The    royal   colored 
clouds  of  sunset  make  it  clearer,  and  a  long  gaze 
upward  through  the  depths  of  the  night, 

'When  the  welkin  above  is  all  white 
And  throbbing  and  panting  with  stars,' 

makes  the  secret  clearest  of  all.  The  thought  of 
this,  which  I  can  only  speak  about,  has  been  with 
me  all  day,  like  an  etherial  perfume;  has  wrapped 
Itself  around  me  as  a  cloud  of  incense,  and  yet  I 
have  been  through  with  the  usual  number  of  classes, 
absorbed  the  plain,  substantial  fare,  of  breakfast. 


TFIR    TKACIIKR 


;n 

dinner,  and  tea  eagerly,  and  read  the  daily  papers. 
•    ...    I  have  looked  at  rny  pliant,  active  fingers, 
and  wondered  over  this   strange,    imparted   force 
that  is  ordained   to  live   a  while  in  me:  that  joins 
itself  in  some  weird  way  to  muscle,  sinew,  tissue, 
and    bone;    that    filters    through    my    nerves    and 
makes  all   things  alive,   among  them   the  organic 
shape  that  is  called  mc.      I  wish   I   could  talk  to- 
night  to  some  one  who  would  say.  with  (juick,  em- 
phatic gesture.  'Yes.  I  understand;   I  have  felt  so. 
too.'     'Be    C.x-sar    to   thyself.'     The    words    are 
brave,    but  to-night   I   am    too  tired  to  say  them 
truly,  and  so  I  will  pray  to  God  and  go  to  sleep." 
The  great  Creator  speaks  to  the  human  heart 
in  a  still  small  voice— yet  a  voice  of  infinite  great- 
ness, and  it  was  the  message  that  she  was  to  bring, 
a  message  as  yet  seemed  to  her  vague  and  but  half 
unreal,    and    that    could    never   be    expressed    by 
tongue  or  pen.  but  which  was  in  the  fulness  of  time 
to  be  given  to  the  world  by  her  own  inspiring  life 
that  thus  stirred  Miss  Willard's  soul. 

Meantime,  in  the  skilful  hands  of  the   Master 
Potter,  she  was  being  prepared  for  her  mission. 


'W^:  _5'li.?" 


CHAPTER    XIV 

One  of  the  most  delightful  positions  Miss  Wil- 
lard  ever  held  during  the  years  that  she  was  a 
teacher  was  that  of  i)rcceptress  of  the  Genesee 
Wcsleyan  Seminary,  cit  Lima.  New  York. 

Her  associations  in  this  school  were  unusually 
pleasant,  and  her  work  greatly  to  her  liking,  she 
being   especially   fond   of   the   girls   placed   in  her 
charge.      "Girls,  girls,  girls,"  she  writes,    "ques- 
tions  upon  questions!     Dear  me,   it   is  no   small 
undertaking  to  l)c  elder  sister  to  the  whole  one 
hundred  and  eighty  of   them,    but  it  is  pleasant, 
truly  so.     Tried  to  write  on   a  talk  to  them,  but 
can  get  no  time  nor  much  inspiration.      This  term, 
I  will  extemporize,  I  guess.     Went  up  to  the  room 
of  the  'Ladies'  Literary, '  was  introduced,  the  whole 
society  rising.      They  treat  mc   beautifully,  and  I 
think   I   reciprocate.     Never  saw  such  a  thing  as 
Lima  sociability. ' ' 

She  also  wrote  "Girls  are  ten  times  as  quick  as 
boys.  In  rhetoric  the  last  do  wretchedly.  I 
should  think  they  would  take  hold  and  study  for 
very  shame." 

The  spirit  of  adventure  that  had  moved  her  to 


ilil|ill|i|||l^     I  U  •    H  WW  III   ■■  iiillH  III 


^;r<'mnw  '^rn'^w, 


THE    TEACHER 


'5' 


write  of  adventures,  and  plan  for  thcni  herself  in 
her  childhood  days.  had.  during  the  years,  slightly 
changed,  so  that  now  it  was  a  desire  to  travel— to 
see  the  great  people  of  the  world  and  its  historic 
places,  and  at  times  she  wished  ^he  had  been  a 
man.  "I  am  an  inveterate  lover  of  variety,"  she 
says,  "and  should  have  made  a  traveler  if  I  had 
been  a  man — as  I  sometimes  wish  I  had  been.  My 
life  is  a  free  and  happy  one— surfacely  so.  How 
strangely  accommodating  are  our  natures!  With 
nothing  just  as  I  wish  it.  with  chasms  and  voids  in 
my  life  too  numerous  to  name,  I  yet  have  a  good 

time  and  no  complaint  to  make Have  had 

a  h  ^-r  from  Nina  Hunt,  dated  Geneva,  Switzer- 
lanci.  What  would  I  not  give  to  have  her  oppor- 
tunity in  life,  lur  my  pet  desire  is  to  travel.  If  I 
had  been  a  man,  I  would  have  liked  Bayard  Tay- 
lor's portion  under  the  sun." 

Little  did  she  think,  as  she  sat  quietly  in  her 
room  penning  these  words,  that  she,  too,  was  soon 
to  be  a  traveler,  yet  this  was  a  part  of  the  plan. 

The  height  of  Miss  Willard's  fame  as  a  teacher 
was  reached  after  her  trip  abroad,  when  she  was 
called  to  be  president  of  a  college.  Having  begun  in 
a  little  "nubbin"  of  a  school-house,  whei-c  a  handful 
of  rude  counVy  boys  amused  themselves  break- 
ing windows,    and    the  girls   brought   field-flowers 


»58      AN   UNCROJVNED   ^UEEN 

until   her  desk   could   hardly  contain   them,    Miss 
Willard  gradually  won,  by  her  own  worth  as  an 
instructor,  her  way,  teaching  in  all,  in  eleven  sepa- 
rate uistitutions  and  six  different  cities  and  towns, 
her  different  positions  being  held  in  public  schools,' 
laches'    seminaries,  and   colleges;  and   not  one  of 
these  positions  but  was  given  up  by  her  own  free 
will,  and  in  ever>'  case  but  one  she  received  from 
the  authorities  a  pressing  invitation  to  return. 

Some  time  after  selling  Swampscott,  Mr.  Wil- 
lard  had  built  Rest  Cottage,  and  with  his  usual  love 
of  trees,  set  out  with  his  own  hands  the  row  of 
trees  that  have  since  grown  into  a  splendid  monu- 
ment to  his  memory. 

When  Frances  returned  from  her  trip  abroad 
she  was  busily  tacking  down  a  carpet  in  the  new 
home,  when  a  lady  whose  husband  was  officially 
connected  with  the  Evanston  College  for  Ladies, 
then  a  new  institution,  called  and  said,  "Frank,' 
I'm  amazed  at  you.  Let  some  one  else  tack  down 
carpets,  and  do  you  take  charge  of  the  new  col- 
lege. ' ' 

"Very  well,"  Frances  answered.  "I  shall  be 
glad  to  do  so.     I  was  only  waiting  to  be  asked." 

Perhaps  at  the  time  she  considered  it  a  joke- 
perhaps  with  prophetic  vision  she  had  seen  that  the 
time  was  to  come  when  a  woman  was  to  be  elected 


THE   TEACHER 


»59 


as  president  of  a  great  college;  perhaps  she  had 
followed  her  course  as  teacher  with  the  determina- 
tion of  being  this  woman,  though  this  is  not  prob- 
able, yet  the  proud  distinction  of  being  the  first 
woman  elected  to  such  a  position  was  hers,  for  in 
the  course  of  time  she  found  herself  at  the  head  of 
the  Evanston  College  for  Ladies. 

As  president  of  this  college  she  instituted  what 
she  called  local  self-government.  Having  been  a 
student  and  teacher  in  different  ladies'  colleges, 
she  had  come  to  hold  the  opinion  that  young 
women  were  disciplined  too  much  as  if  they  were 
children.  Her  opinion  was,  that  a  young  woman 
should  be  given  a  chance  to  act  womanly  from 
choice  instead  of  from  force  of  many  rules  and 
much  close  watching. 

Some  of  the  young  women  who  were  to  be  under 
her  care  held  this  opinion  also,  one  of  them  saying 
to  her  the  first  Sunday  after  she  took  charge: 
"Miss  Willard,  we  can't  bear  to  go  in  a  procession 
over  to  the  church.  They  say  it  has  always  been 
the  custom,  but  if  you  will  irust  us  to  go  independ- 
ently, I  feel  sure  you  would  never  have  occasion 
to  regret  it,  for  we  would  all  be  loyal  to  you  and 
the  school." 

After  this  a  request  was  made  that  the  young 
ladies  might  become  members  of  the  literary  soci- 


'Tpvi>J«-' 


1 60     AN   UNCROWNED   ^^UEEN 


eties  of  the  university.  The  idea  of  a  young  woman 
attending  a  gentleman's  society  was  in  itself  bad 
enough.  The  idea  of  their  taking  part  in  debates 
with  young  men,  or  making  orations,  was  unhearc. 
of,  and  it  was  raised  as  an  objection  that  "some 
one  of  them  might  prevent  a  young  man  from  hav- 
ing as  frequent  opportunity  to  speak  as  he  other- 
wise would  have  had,  or  some  one  of  them  might 
be  elected  president  of  a  society,  such  an  improper 
position  for  a  young  lady  to  hold!" 

But  .Miss  Willard  saw  no  impropriety  in  a  young 
woman  being   elected    president   of   anything   the 
Lord  ha.  I  fitted  her  to  be  president  of,  and  used 
her  influence  for  the  young  ladies,  so  that  a  favor- 
able decision  was  rendered  by  the  university  presi- 
dent, who  said:   "Here  they  can  measure  swords, 
here  even,  more  than  in  the  recitation  room,  young 
men  will  learn  that  women  are  their  peers.      It  will 
break    down    prejudice    against    woman's    public 
speech  and  work;  it  will  refine  the  young  men  and 
develop  intellectual  power  in  the  girls."      But  he 
warned    Miss   Willard    more  than    once    that    the 
success  of  the  experiment  was  in  her  hands,  and 
she   knew  that    its    success  or    failure   depended 
on  the  conduct  of  the  young  women  themselves. 

After  a  number  of  requests  had  been  made  by 
the  young  ladies  for  larger  liberty.  Miss  WilJard 


THE    TEACHER  ,6, 

spoke  to  them  in  a  body.     She  was  very  attractive 
in  appearance  now,  as  well  as   in  manner,  and  by 
her  wonderful  gentleness  and  tact,  had  won  their 
hearts.      Standing  before  these  young  women,  she 
told  of  her  days  at  Evanston  as  a  school-girl,  and 
of  the  trouble  she  had  caused  her  teachers,  of  her 
conversion,  and  of  her  sister  Mary's  death.      Then 
she  laid  before  them  her  plan  of  government,  which 
put   each  girl   on   her  own   honor,   and   she  said: 
"Here  is  an  enterprise  the  like  of  which  was  never 
seen— a  college  with  women  trustees  and  faculty,  a 
woman  president,  and  woman  students.     Up  yon- 
der  in  the  grove  is  a  first-class  men's  college,  and 
to  every  one  of  its  advantages  we  are  invited,  on 
one  condition— all  of  us  must  at  all  times  be  Chris- 
tian ladies.     Now,  girls,   I  place   your  destiny  in 
your  own  hands;   I  confide  mine  to  you  also,  for 
this  is  my  own  home  town,  and  my  good  name  is 
more    to   me    than    life.     Besides   all    this,    and 
greater,  the  destiny  of  this  woman's  college,  and 
to  some  degree,  that  of  the  co-education  experi- 
ment,   rests  with   you  young  creatures,    fair  and 
sweet.     God  help  you  to  be  good,"  and  after  a 
short  prayer  the  girls  were  left  to  govern  them- 
selves with  their  "Roll  of  Honor"  and  "self-gov- 
emed  society. ' ' 

People  who  knew  nothmg  of   Miss    Willard's 


1 62      .iN    UNCROli'Nh.D   !-:)UEEN 


plan  of  ^overniiK'nt  wondered  why  tlie  youni: 
women  were  so  well  l)eliaved,  and  said  the  new 
(•o!Uf,^e  president  must  surely  have  bewitched  them, 
as  no  such  orderly  conduct  had  ever  been  seen  in  a 
coile^e. 

Hut  the  young  women  were  not  bewitched;  they 
were  only  good  because  they  loved  Miss  Willard, 
who  constantly  visited  each  pupil  in  her  room,  pray- 
ing with  her.  and  showing  in  innumerable  little  ways 
an  interest  in  her  welfare,  and  because  they  found 
themselves  happier  in  the  long  run  when  they  did 
right  than  wrong. 

After  a  time  it  was  decided  to  unite  the  Ladies' 
College  with  the  great  Northwestern  College  for 
Men,  and  Miss  Willard  was  elected  Professor  of 
/T-lsthetics. 

It  was  a  novel  experience  for  some  of  the  yoimg 
men  to  recite  to  a  woman  teacher,  especially  one 
so  young  and  fair,  but  they  soon  learned  that  her 
abihty  both  as  an  instructor  and  as  a  disciplinarian 
was  unquestioned. 

During  the  first  weeks  Miss  Willard  heard  the 
young  gentlemen  recite  they  amused  themselves 
trying  to  play  pranks  on  her. 

Entering  the  recitation-room  on  one  occasion, 
she  saw  written  on  the  black-board,  "Miss  Willard 
runs  the  Freshm.^n  like  a  pack  of  girls." 


THE    TEJCf/KR 


•6j 


Without  letting  them  I<now  she  had  seen  this, 
she  took  up  an  eraser,  and  with  her  eyes  studiously 
dropped  on  a  book  in  her  hand,  erased  the  joke. 

Another  time  a  howhng  cat  was  secreted  in  the 
drawer  of  her  desk,  the  young  gentlemen  no  doubt 
thinking  they  would  have  a  laugh  at  her  expense 
when  she  jerked  the  drawer  open  and  liberated  the 
cat  in  the  school-room. 

They  were  doomed  to  disappointment,  however, 
for  although  the  cat  "mewed"  unceasingly,  she 
paid  not  the  slightest  attention  to  it,  and  left  the 
cat  where  she  found  it  at  the  end  of  the  recitation 
hour. 

Years  afterward,  when  about  to  address  an 
audience  of  five  thousand  people  in  Boston,  in 
answer  to  a  lady  who  said,  "Aren't  you  frightened? 
Doesn't  it  make  your  heart  beat  faster  to  step  out. 
one  lone  woman  in  sight  of  that  great  amphi- 
theater.'" she  said.  "You  never  taught  the  Fresh- 
man class  in  Northwestern  University  or  you  would 
not  e.xpect  one  who  has  done  that  to  be  frightened 
at  anything. ' ' 

After  the  two  colleges  had  united,  changes  in 
government  made  it  impossible  for  Miss  VVillard 
to  carry  out  the  plans  she  thought  necessary  for 
the  best  interest  of  the  work  she  sought  to  do.  and 
she  determined  to  resign.      Her  mother,  brother. 


■■-*M'^^' 


164      AN   UNCROWNED   ^EEN 

and  friends  protested  against  her  action,  but  she 
was  resolved,  and  accordingly  sent  in  her  resigna- 
tion, reading!  "It  has  slowly  but  surely  become 
evident  that  I  can  never  carry  into  execution  my 
deepest  convictions  concerning  the  interests  of  the 
Woman's  College  under  the  existing  policy  of 
government.  I  therefore  resign  the  office  of  dean 
of  the  Woman's  College  and  Professor  of  /Esthetics 
in  the  university  to  which  you  elected  me  one  year 
ago.  There  are  other  reasons  for  this  action, 
which  justice  to  myself  would  require  mo  to  name 
in  the  hearing  of  the  trustees,  but  I  refrain  from 
doing  this  out  of  regard  to  interests  which  must 
take  precedence  of  any  personal  consideration." 

Leaving  this  position  Miss  Willard  refers  to  as  the 
greatest  sacrifice  her  life  had  ever  known,  but  this, 
too,  was  a  part  of  the  plan,  and  the  greatest  spirit- 
ual uplift  of  her  life  came  in  connection  with  it, 
when,  after  leaving  Evanston,  she  returned  for  the 
sole  purpose  of  saying  to  the  president,  from  whom 
she  had  radically  differed,  "I  beg  your  pardon  for 
everything  I  have  ever  done  and  said  that  was  not 
right, ' '  and  of  assuring  him  that  she  desired  to  be 
at  peace  with  God  and  every  human  soul. 

Some  of  her  friends  strongly  objected  to  this  act 
on  her  part,  declaring  it  would  be  an  undignified 
admission  of  iil-conduct  where  none  had  been,  but 


THE    TEACHER 


L£i 

having,  after  much  prayer,  decided  the  matter  as 
her  conscience  directed,  she  made  the  apology  and 
went  away  happier  than  if  she  had  fallen  heir  to 
some  rich  inheritance.  Thus  the  days  of  her  life 
as  a  teacher  came  to  a  close. 

In  the  great  warfare  raging  at  fever  heat  be- 
tween the  invisible  forces  of  good  and  evil,  the 
Master  Potter,  whose  handiwork  is  the  constella- 
tions of  the  universe,  had  need  of  a  chosen  vessel, 
and  although  she  knew  it  not,  He  had  long  been 
molding  Frances  Willard  for  her  mission. 


m 


Tif-j,.'!.- 


rW^ 


»  «,-.,i5%i    --;, 


rJRT   IV 


rUh    IK.llEl.F.K 

'•  I.KT    I'^    fid    AltKiiAi',       1,1    1     1         \||\    IN    All-.\IRs;       I.),  r    fS 
(-••AKN,  .\M>   III,    AM)    IIA\1,    AM)    <    I.lMn" 


u 


i:n*   'jj^'» 


<^ 


CHAPTER    Xr 

On  one  of  the  rainy  Mays  that  cnnic  as  trial 
times  to  the  children  of  Forest  Home  in  their  sunny 
play-days,  the  three,  Oliver,  Frances,  and  Mary, 
stood  in  the  doorway  of  the  barn  kK)king  out  dis- 
consolately on  the  dreary  view. 

The  whole  world  seemed  to  be  shut  away  from 
them  by  the  gray  fog  and  mist  that  kept  the  sun- 
shine out;  the  cheerful  music  of  the  birds  was 
hushed,  and  in  its  place  sounded  the  dismal  clatter 
of  continual  dropping  from  the  eaves. 

"I  wonder,"  exclaimed  Frances,  impatiently, 
as  she  looked  out  over  the  narrow  limits  of  the 
misty,  gray  scene,  "if  we  shall  ever  know  anything, 
see  anybody,  or  go  anywhere!" 

"Why  do  you  wish  to  go  away?"  Mary  inquired, 
with  astonishment,  clasping  her  chubby  hand  lov- 
ingly around  one  of  her  sister's. 

"Oh,  we  must  learn— must  grow  and  must 
achieve,"  Frances  answered;  it's  such  a  big  world 
that  if  we  don't  begin  at  it  we  shall  never  catch  up 
with  the  rest." 

As  she  grew  older,   Frances'  desire  to  travel 

169 


f: 


dUii^U^ 


170     AN   UNCROIVNED   ^^UEEN 


probably  not  before  she  was  very,  very  old,  she, 
too,  would  go  abroad. 

But  the  time  came  sooner  than  she  ('reamed, 
and  in  a  way  she  had  not  thought. 

After  an  absence  from  Evanston,  slie  became 
acquainted  on  her  return  with  a  young  woman. 
Miss  Katherine  Jackson,  who  was  visiting  a  mutual 
friend,  and  the  attachment  between  these  two  soon 
became  so  strong  that  they  remained  life-long 
friends  and  a  great  part  of  the  time  companions. 

Miss  Jackson  was  the  only  daughter  of  a  wealthy 
Eastern  manufacturer,  but  owing  to  the  fact  that 
iier  mother  had  died  when  she  was  but  a  child,  she 
spent  much  of  her  time  away  from  home,  traveling 
and  often  teaching  French  and  Latin,  of  both  of 
which  she  was  very  fond. 

As  teacher  of  these  languages  she  held  a  posi- 
tion in  the  Genesee  Seminary  at  the  same  time 
Miss  Willard  was  preceptress,  and  one  day  she 
greatly  surprised  her  chosen  friend  by  saying,  "Go 
home  with  me  at  Christmas,  for  I  am  bound  to 
coax  my  father  to  agree  that  we  shall  make  the 
tour  of  Europe. " 

For  a  moment  Miss  Willard  could  only  gaze  at 
iuT  friend  with  wonder  and  delight.  To  see  the 
countries  of  which  she  had  loved  to  read  had  been 
for  years  a  cherished  dream,  now  the  promise  of  its 


THE    TRAVELER 


'7» 


reali/-..     ■   seemed  at  hand,  and  plans  were  made 

accorrl'.rj,ly. 

Mr.  Willard's  failing  health,  however,  stopped 

the  plans  for  a  time,  and  Miss  Willard  went  to  his 

bedside  to  help  her  mother  care  for  him  during  his 

last  illness. 

After  some  months  of  suffering,  on  a  stormy 

winter  night,  his  soul  was  freed  from  its  earthy 

temple,  and  went  to  join  that  of  his  daughter,  who 
had    passed   over   some    years   before,    leaving   a 
second  vacant  chair  beside  the  family  hearthstone. 
But  his  departure  to  the  unknown  world  from  which 
no  man  returns  did  not  leave  those  who  mourned 
for  him  without  hope,  for  he  died  in  the  faith,  say- 
ing of  the  change  that  was  to  come,  "For  my  part 
I  swing  out  on  God's  almighty  arm.  and  where  God 
takes  me.  let  me  go!     1   have  committed  my  case 
to  mv  Creator,  and  am  perfectly  content.      If  it  had 
pleased  him  to  grant  me  a  respite  from  suffering, 
and  a  few  more  quiet  years  with  my  family  and 
friends.  I  should  have  thanked  him  for  it;  but  since 
it  does  not  please  him  to  do  this,  /  thank  hivi  just 

tJic  same." 

After  the  father  had  gone,  Mrs.  Willard  insisted 
that  Frances  take  her  long-delayed  trip  to  Europe, 
while  she  herse'f  left  Rest  Cottage,  visiting  Oliver, 
who  was  now  married  and  living  in  Wisconsin. 


•  ^^~^,:fm^^T\mf^?'y'r*i^ 


172      ^N    UNCROWNED   >-)L'A£iV 

Before  setting  out  for  a  visit  to  the  cities  of  the 
Old  World,  both  Miss  Jackson  and  Miss  Willard 
thought  it  fitting  that  they  visit  the  capital  of  their 
native  land,  and  accordingly  they  visited  Washing- 
ton, being  filled  virith  patriotism  ai  the  sight  of  its 
glories,  and  seeing  no  sight  abroad  that  filled  them 
with  such  pride  as  the  glittering  dome  of  the  capitol. 

On  May  2^,  1868,  forever  a  memorable  day  to 
Miss  Willard,  the  two  friends  set  sail  on  the  long- 
planned  voyage,  experiencing  early  in  their  travels 
the  first  bitter  in  the  sweet,  in  the  shape  of  violent 
seasickness,  which  lasted  almost  the  entire  time 
they  were  on  the  water.  After  many  days  of 
rough  weather,  it  was  indeed  delightful  to  have  a 
more  quiet  sea  for  the  journey's  ending,  and  the 
passengers,  dressed  for  shore,  made  a  merry  com- 
pany. 

Far  across  the  rippling  water  that  reached  away 
in  every  direction  could  be  seen  on  one  side,  long, 
dim  lines  lying  close  to  the  horizon,  which  the  pas- 
sengers knew  was  the  distant  shore.  As  the  boat 
plowed  forward  through  its  watery  way,  these  lines 
seemed  to  rise  slowly  and  take  on  more  form  and 
color,  and  against  the  background,  numbers  of 
strange  white  birds  seemed  floating  lazily,  wh'ch 
changed  to  sail-boats  as  the  distance  that  lent  the 
enchantment  was  covered. 


THE   rKJVELER 


17.^ 


When  Miss  Willard  aiul  her  friend  gained  terra 
firma  once  riorc,  they   found  themselves  on    the 
"Emerald   Isle"   having  landed   at   Cork.      After 
spending  ten  days  in   Ireland,   Scotland,   with   its 
picturesque  scenery,  was  visited,  and  then  England. 
While  in  London,  the  venturesome  spirit  of  her 
childhood   took   possession  of   Miss   Willard.    and 
acting  from  the  same  motive  that  had  caused  her 
to  march  around  the  pasture  in  front  of  Oliver's 
gun,  she  climbed  to  the  top  of  St.  Paul's  Cathedral 
spire,  because  she  had  heard  a  young  gentleman  of 
Boston  declare,  with  great  show  of  superiority  and 
small   sense,   that   "no  woman   had   done   this,    or 
could,  or  should." 

Leaving  England,  Miss  Willard  and  Miss  Jack- 
son, with  others,  went  to  Geneva,  stopping  en  route 
a  few  days  at  Paris.      From  Geneva  they  made  an 
extended  tour  north  and  east,  going  as  far  in  one 
direction  as  Helsingfors,  Finland,  and  in  the  other 
as  the  Volga  banks  in  Russia,   and  returning  to 
Paris  by  way  of  Germany,  visiting  Dresden,  Leip- 
sic,  and  Berlin,  in  which  latter  place  Miss  Willard 
had  the   unpleasant  experience  of   seeing  women 
harnessed  with  dogs  to  vegetable  wagons,  standing 
meekly   in    some   market-place   waiting   for   their 
liege  lord  to  give  them  the  word  of  command  to 
move  on. 


174      ^^N    VN  CROW  NED   i^UEEN 

After  spending  over  three  months  in  the  German 
Empire,  visiting  its  points  of  interest  and  studying 
its  hmguage  and  customs,  the  travelers  landed  once 
more  in  Paris  where  they  remained  for  nearly  six 
months. 

During  her  stay  abroad.  Miss  Willard  wrote 
twenty  l;ooks  of  notes,  descriptive  of  her  travels, 
in  many  instances  voicing  her  hopes,  her  longings, 
and  her  opinions.  At  an  early  date  during  her  stay 
in  Paris,  she  wrote:  "I  have  a  mind  to  indicate 
here  what  lias  much  occupied  me  of  late,  but  what 
I  am  not  brave  enough  to  e.xecute,  perhaps,  though, 
if  I  were,  I  believe  my  usefulness  would  e.xceed  the 
measure  it  will  reach  in  any  other  line  of  life. 
Briefly,  it  is  to  study  so  far  as  possible  by  reading, 
learning  the  languages,  and  personal  observations, 
the  aspects  of  the  woman  (luestion  in  France,  Ger- 
many and  England,  and  when  I  return  to  America, 
after  two  or  three  years'  absence,  and  have  studied 
the  same  subject  carefully  in  relation  to  my  own 
land,  to  talk  in  public  of  the  matter  and  cast  my- 
self with  what  w'eight  or  weakness  I  possess  against 
the  only  foe  of  what  I  conceive  to  be  the  justice  of 
the  subject,  and  tliat  is  unenlightened  public  opin- 
ion. Sometimes  I  feel  'the  victory  to  be  in  me,' 
often  I  do  not.  Always.  I  have  dimly  felt  it  to  be 
my  vocation,  but  a  constitutional  dread  of  criticism 


THE   TR.1VELER 


'•'S 


and  too  strong  love  of  apjirobation  have  held  me 
back.  With  encouragement,  I  believe  myself 
capable  of  rendering  services  of  some  value  in  the 
word-and-idea  battle  that  will  only  deepen  with 
vears,  and  must  at  last  have  a  result  that  will 
delight  all  who  have  helped  to  hasten  it." 

With  this  object  in  view.  Miss  Willard  carried 
on  her  studies  and  observations,  satisfying  at   the 
same  time  her  thirst  for  knowledge  by  a  thorough 
studv  of  the  French  language,  and  frequent  visits 
with  the  master  minds  of  France  a>-  she  ac(|uainted 
herself  with  them  through  their  works  found  in  the 
libraries;   and  her  love  of  the  beautiful  and  artistic 
by  many  visits  to  art  galleries  and   art   manufac- 
tories.     Of  her  favonte  Venus  she  says:   "  I  went 
to  the  Louvre  to  see  my  favorite  among  Venuses, 
that  of  Milo.  for  a  leave-taking.      In  the  long,  dim 
perspective,  she  gleamed  like  a  divinity.      She  has 
a  soul,  a  brain,  a  heart,  which  one  cannot  say  of 
the  Medici,  and  hardly  of  the  Capitoline,  or  of  the 
Diana  of  Versailles  and  l.er  anticjuarian  compan- 
ions.    The  gallery  of  modern  sculpture,  including 
Canova's   Cupids   and    Psyches,    and   many  other 
ilufs-d'a'urrc  were  our  last   sight  of  the  Louvre, 
most  artistic  of  all  galleries,  and  the  one  uiat  more 
than  any  other  contributes  to  the  culture  of  the 
public  taste.      It   is  the  noblest  thing  in   France, 


ill 


176     AN   UNCROIVNED   ^UEEN 

worthy  of  what  is  highest  and  most  generous  in  the 
Latin  race.  How  it  has  pleased  and  taught  me  by 
its  lessons,  manifold  as  the  panorama  of  evening 
clouds,  and  free  as  the  air  from  Swiss  mountains. 
To-day,  as  always,  when  I  have  been  there,  many 
poor  workmen  in  their  blouses  were  passing  through 
this  gallery,  looking  delightedly  from  side  to  side, 
holding  their  caps  in  their  hands,  not  awkwardly, 
but  with  a  certain  timid  grace,  until  they  observed 
that  gentlemen  wore  theirs,  when  they  replaced 
them  suddenly  and  commenced  staring  more  dili- 
gently than  ever  at  the  pictured  walls. ' ' 

After  a  visit  to  the  Imperial  Manufactory,  she 
pens  the  following  description:  "We  have  been  to 
see  the  process  of  making  both  tapestries  and 
carpets  at  the  Imperial  Manufactory.  In  the 
former,  the  artist  staiids  behind  his  work,  because 
every  thread  must  be  tied  on  the  wrong  side  of  it, 
10  leave  a  perfectly  smooth  surface  upon  the  other. 
The  picture  he  is  to  copy  is  behind  him.  From 
time  to  time  he  puts  a  little  mirror  between  the 
threads,  and  in  it  sees  the  progress  of  his  work. 
The  busy  bobbin  flies  in  and  out  in  the  expert  hand 

of  the  invisible  worker I  do  not  believe 

that  a  quarter  of  an  inch  is  wrought  in  a  single  day. 
Watching  a  long  time,  I  could  see  no  growth  in  the 
delicate  flower  petal  that  was  under  the  fingers  of 


THE   TRAVELER 


^11 


the  artist  of  whose  work  I  took  special  notice. 
The  men  who  make  carpets,  on  the  contrary,  have 
their  work  in  front  of  them,  and  the  picture  they 

are  to  copy  hangs  above  their  heads Some 

carpets  take  ten  years  to  make,  and  none  are  ever 
sold.  The  manufactory  belongs  to  the  government, 
and  its  products  go  to  palaces  at  home  or  are  the 
princely  gifts  of  France  to  foreign  potentates.  The 
largest  carpet  ever  made  here,  or  elsewhere  prob- 
ably, was  for  the  picture  gallery  of  the  Louvre. 
It  was  in  seventy-two  pieces,  was  more  than  thir- 
teen hundred  feet  long,  and  cost  thirty  thousand 
dollars." 

During  her  stay  in  Paris.  Miss  Willard  studied 
social  laws  and  customs  as  they  afifected  the  indi- 
vidual, the  home,  and  societv  at  large,  and  of  one 
phase  of  her  study  writes:  "Let  mc  '  ere  set  down 
one  corollary  on  my  European  study  of  the  Sabbath 
problem.  Even  if  the  observance  of  one  day  in 
seven  by  cessation  from  ordinary  pursuits,  particu- 
lar observance  of  divine  worship,  and  thoughts  of 
destiny  and  duty  be  not  required  of  us  bv  our 
Creator,  it  is  at  least  proved  to  be  for  our  highest 
good  and  best  development;  first,  by  comparing 
nations  where  such  observances  are  habitual  with 
those  where  they  are  not;  and  second,  in  individual 
experience,  by  instituting  a  similar  parallel  between 


178      AN    UNCROIVNED   y^UEEN 

the  periods  when  we  have  and  when  we  have  not 
regarded  the  injunctions  of  the  fourth  command- 
ment. I  look  hopefully  toward  the  better  country 
of  America,  and  the  better  life  that  it  is  easy  there 
to  lead.  For  me  and  for  my  work  in  life  it  is  a 
happy  thing  that  I  am  going  home.  I  would  that 
I  had  the  ambition  of  goodness  even  as  strongly  as  I 
have  the  ambition  of  knowledge!" 


CHAPTER  XFI 


Leaving  Paris,  Belgium,  Holland,  and  the 
beautiful  Rhine  were  visited,  alter  which  came 
Switzerland,  with  its  magnificent  and  unchanging 
Alps,  the  delight  of  every  artist's  heart,  and  every 
tourist's  pleasure. 

With  the  long-cherishcd  desire  of  seeing  the 
famous  monks  and  dogs  of  St.  Bernard  about  to  be 
realized,  Miss  Willard  was  in  a  hurry  to  begin  the 
long  ascent.  One  of  the  party  with  her  said  he 
didn't  think  it  would  pay  to  "climb  such  a  tall  hill 
just  to  see  a  few  dogs  and  some  monks,"  but  Miss 
Willard  had  long  ago  settled  the  cjucstion  as  to  her 
own  climbing,  and  with  Miss  Jackson,  another  lady, 
and  two  gentlemen  started  on  the  excursion  at  half- 
past  seven  on  an  August  morning,  with  bags,  books, 
and  umbrellas  packed  in  their  carriage. 

After  a  six-hour  ride,  the  company  left  the 
carriage  at  a  lonely  wayside  inn,  and  Miss  Jackson, 
with  the  other  lady,  took  mules,  while  Miss  Willard, 
with  the  gentlemen,  went  on  foot  up  the  steep 
climb  toward  the  famous  home  of  the  wonderful 
dogs  she  had  been  interested  in  since  her  child- 
hood. 

'70 


i8o 


.-IN   UNCROIVNED   }O^UEEN 


As  they  reached  the  liigher  ahitudes  the  way 
grew  dreary.  The  soft  blues  and  greens  and  dis- 
tant purples  of  the  far-away  hills  had  given  place 
to  cliffs  that  rose  "hare,  gray,  and  pitiless"  on 
every  hand,  while  the  "eternal  snows,"  crowning 
many  hoary  mountain  peaks,  seemed  but  a  "stone's 
throw  distant." 

As  they  made  their  upward  way  over  this 
gloomy  road,  many  tourists  were  met,  "quick- 
footed  young  pedestrians  from  England,  leisurely, 
gray-mustached  French  gentlemen  on  horseback, 
fat  German  ladies  in  chairs  borne  by  two  stout- 
armed  peasants,  delicate-featured  Americans,  the 
women  riding,  tht  men  walking  at  their  sides." 
"On  we  climbed,"  Miss  VVillard  writes,  "while 
Mi  Smith  impelled  our  lai^^ging  steps  by  an  ex- 
plosive reutatioii  of  Longfellow's  'Excelsior,'  the 
scene  of  which  is  here.  Around  a  sharp,  rocky 
bend,  up  an  ascent  as  steep  as  a  housetop,  past  an 
overhanging  precipice,  I  went,  leaving  the  gentle- 
men behind  me,  in  the  enthusiasm  of  the  approach, 
and  then  the  gray,  solemn,  friendly  walls  of  the 
great  hospice,  which  had  seemed  to  me  as  dim  and 
distant  as  the  moon's  caverns,  rose  before  mc,  out- 
lined upon  the  placid  evening  sky.  I  stopped  and 
listened  eagerly  as  I  approached  its  open  door;  no 
sound  but  the  gurgle  of  a  distant  brook;  no  living 


'm:^:: 


THE   TR.-ll'EI.EK 


i8i 


object  but  two  great  St.  Bernard  clogb  seated  upon 
the  broad,  'lark  steps  of  stone." 

The  "father"  of  the  hospice,  Reverend  Bcsse, 
welcomed  the  party  cordially,  and  after  a  supper 
of  rice  soup,  omelet,  codfish,  potatoes,  stewed 
pears,  rice  pudding,  filberts,  cake,  and  tea, 
which  was  thoroughly  enjoyed  by  the  hungry  tour- 
ists, he  entertained  them  during  the  long  evening 
they  sat  around  the  huge  and  glowing  hearth  fire, 
answering  questions  and  telling  the  story  of  the 
hospice. 

"Yes,  lady,"  he  said,  in  answer  to  Miss  Wil- 
lard's  question,  "our  hospice  was  founded  nine 
hundred  years  ago,  by  Count  Bernard,  of  Savoy, 
who  devoted  forty  years  of  his  life  to  entertaining 
and  protecting,  as  we  still  try  to  do,  the  many 
travelers  who  annually  pass  through  these  moun- 
tains between  Switzerland  and  Italy.  About 
twenty  thousand  were  cared  for  each  year  in  olden 
times  without  the  smallest  charge  being  made  of 
rich  or  poor.  Now  we  have  not  so  many,  the 
lacilities  for  travel  having  so  greatly  improved; 
but  a  great  number  come  over  the  Pass  who  are 
out  looking  for  work,  and  there  are  also  many  beg- 
gars. These  we  limit  to  three  day's  entertainment. 
We  would  gladly  keep  them  longer,  but  cannot. 
Our  dogs  are  across  between  a  Newfoundland  and 


'/"^ 


MICR.-^rOPY    RESOLUTION    TEST    CHART 

ANSI  <.nd   ISO  TEST  CHART   No     2 


1.0 


I.I 


m 

|140 


1-25   ililiu 


III  2.2 

II  2.0 

1.8 
1.6 


^     APPLIED  IM^GE 


^'^r'f     "new 


l82 


AN   UNCROIVNED    (^UEEN 


Pyrcncan,  and  after  seven  or  eight  years  become 
rheumatic,  and  we  are  forced  to  kill  them.  In 
winter  travelers  are  obliged  to  wait  at  a  place  of 
refuge  we  have  provided,  at  some  distance  from 
these  buildings,  which  are  on  the  very  top  of  the 
Pass,  until  we  send  out  a  man  and  a  dog,  with 
refreshments  fastened  to  the  neck  of  the  dog.  which 
never  once  loses  his  way,  though  the  distance  is 
long,  the  snow  is  often  thirty  feet  deep,  and  the 
only  guide  the  man  has  is  the  great,  banner-like 
tail  of  the  dog  waving  through  the  storm.  The 
monks  always  go  out  in  the  most  dangerous  weather. 
I  lead  them  at  such  times.  They  are  not  obliged 
to  go — we  make  it  perfectly  voluntary. ' ' 

After  a  delightful  evening  spent  in  the  hospice, 
the  travelers  went  to  bed  between  blankets  that  had 
been  thoroughly  warmed,  to  sleep  until  early  dawn, 
when  they  were  awakened  by  hearing  men's  voices 
chanting  solemnly:  "We  praise  Thee,  O  God;  we 
acknowledge  Thee  to  be  the  Lord. ' ' 

After  a  si.x  weeks'  tour  of  Switzerland,  Miss 
Willard  and  Miss  Jackson  proceeded  to  Italy, 
where  they  remained  over  four  months,  visiting 
its  different  cities,  and  spending  much  time  in 
Rome. 

Her  impression  of  this  imperial  city  by  the  Tiber 
is  recorded   in  her  own  words  as  follows:   "I  never 


THE    TRAVELER 


T83 


dreamed  in  all  those  lethargic  years  at  home,  what 
a  wide  world  it  is,  and  how  full  of  misery.  Indeed, 
in  a  thousand  ways  it  was  Rome's  office  to  teach 
me  this.  Walking  along  her  streets  A'ith  grief  tug- 
ging at  my  heart  for  all  the  wretchedness  that  they 
disclosed,  how  many  times  have  I  repeated  to 
myself  these  words  of  St.  Augustine,  'Let  my  soul 
calm  itself,  O  God,  in  thee!'  Hollow-eyed  beggars 
asking  charity  at  almost  every  step;  troops  of 
tonsured  monks,  barefooted  and  steaming  in  their 
moist,  dirty,  old  garments;  skinny  hags,  warming 
their  knotted  hands  in  their  little  'scaldino'  pots: 
dirty  children,  whose  tears  make  the  only  clean 
spots  upon  their  pitiful  faces,  old  before  their  time; 
soldiers  standing  as  sentries  in  wind  and  rain,  for 
no  real  purpose  save  to  subserve  the  pride  of  prince 
and  cardinal;  horses  whose  bones  but  just  refrain 
from  protruding  through  their  rusty  skins,  driven 
rapidly  over  the  sharp  stones,  and  falling,  only  to 
struggle  and  throw  out  their  wounded  legs  in  the 
effort  to  rise  and  continue  their  journev  under  the 
pitiless  lash.  All  these  sights  smote  my  eyes  every 
time  I  walked  the  classic  streets  of  Rome.  Who- 
ever can  fail  to  feel  the  fires  of  a  quenchless  phil- 
anthropy kindling  in  his  breast  as  he  contemplates 
such  scenes  is  either  too  frivolous  for  thought,  or 
too  hardened  for  emotion.      For  myself,  whatever 


M 


1 84     AN   UNCROWNED   QUEEN 


I  did  not  learn  there,  Rome  taught  me  an  intense 
love  and  tender  pity  for  my  race." 

Not  only  did  her  study  of  conditions  in  Rome 
give  to  Miss  Willard  more  interest  in  the  human 
race  at  large,  but  in  particular  her  sympathies  were 
enlisted  in  behalf  of  women  whom  she  found  igno- 
rant, superstitious,  slaves  to  a  half-barbarous  law  of 
custom  that  forced  them  to  become  eari/  in  th.eir 
lives  wives  or  nuns.  "Life  gives  us  just  ne 
choice,"  a  Roman  matron  said  to  her,  "to  be 
wives  or  to  be  nuns,  and  society  sneers  at  us  so 
cruelly  if  we  neither  wear  the  marriage  ring  nor  the 
consecrating  crucifix  that  we  are  never  happy  unless 
we  are  miserable,  and  so  we  marry.  You  of  the 
north  have  a  thousand  defenses.  The  intellect 
yields  you  so  many  pleasures,  and  your  manner  of 
life  renders  you  brave,  so  that  you  are  seldom  at 
the  mercy  of  your  heart." 

So  early  is  this  idea  of  marriage  instilled  into 
the  minds  of  children  that  at  twelve  the  young  girl 
is  a  woman  and  ready  to  be  offered  up  on  custom's 
altar. 

"We  are  too  tender-hearted,"  a  child  of  twelve 
said  to  Miss  Willard,  "we  women  of  Italy.  Why. 
I  have  a  cousin  who  is  dying  of  grief  because  her 
lover  seems  cold  of  late.  I  laugh  at  her  and  say. 
'Ah,    bclla    Marpluritti.,    you    are    a    little    idiot. 


THE    TRAVELER 


185 


You  should  not  waste  yourself  thus  upon  that  silly 
Antonio.'  You  shall  see  how  I'll  behave!  I  will 
never  marr)'  in  this  world.  I  have  seen  too  much 
unhappiness  between  these  husbands  and  wives. 
And  yet,  you  see,  'twill  not  be  easy  for  me  to 
escape,"  she  said  with  charming  naivettK  "Why, 
the  other  evening  I  went  to  see  the  sunset  from 
the  Pincian  Hill  with  my  naughty  handsome  papa, 
and  a  foolish  boy,  not  so  tall  as  I  am,  a  mere  child 
indeed,  but  dressed  up  like  a  young  gentleman, 
with  white  vest,  gold  chain,  and  carrying  a  silly 
little  cane,  whispered  to  me,  while  papa  smoked  his 
cigar  upon  the  terrace,  and  I  sat  near  the  fountain, 
that  he  should  come  this  very  night  and  play  the 
mandolino  under  my  window.  But  I  turned  my 
face  away,  and  when  he  persisted,  I  scowled  at 
him  from  under  my  black  eyebrows  and  just  dared 
him  to  come.  I  tell  you,  Signorita,  that  I  will  not 
fall  in  love  for  a  long,  long  time  yet,  if  ever,  for  in 
our  countr)'  it  kills  women  or  else  it  drives  them 
mad.  I'm  going  to  give  Italian  lessons  like  my 
poor  mamma,  and  in  character  I'm  going  to  be  a 
real  Americana — calm  as  the  broad  Campagna, 
cold  as  the  catacombs.  For  I  am  very  sad  over 
the  women  of  my  country.  Life  begins  with  them 
at  twelve,  and  at  twenty-five  they  are  already  old; 
the  lights  are  out — the  plav  is  over." 


1 86      AN   UNCROWNED    (^UEEN 


By  tlie  Italian  women  with  whom  Miss  Willard 
became  ac(|uainte(i.  it  was  accounted  a  strange 
thing  that  in  America  women  were  educated.  "We 
marry  so  early,"  they  said,  "there  is  really  little 
need  that  we  should  study  much.  In  Italy,  // 
/i/o-fs  a  tccniujii's  prospats  to  be  well  instructed, 
and  you  see  this  is  a  point  we  cannot  guard  too 
carefully,  for  out  of  marriage  there  is  no  place  for 
us  except  the  cloister. ' ' 

"You  say,  Signorita,"  one  Italian  friend  ex- 
claimed in  horroi,  "that  women  are  so  crazy  as  to 
set  up  for  doctors  in  your  country.'  It  is  a  folly 
and  a  crime.  I  wonder  that  the  priests  don't  inter- 
fere!" 

"And  you  tell  me  there  are  fifty  thousand  lady 
teachers  in  the  United  States!"  another  said.  "It 
is  alarning!  What  will  you  come  to  at  last,  in  a 
country  where  women  are  permitted  thus  to  usurp 
authority  over  the  men?" 

Miss  Willard  then  explained  how  two  millions 
of  men  had  been  killed  in  the  Civil  War,  leaving 
many  hundred  thousand  women  to  be  their  own 
bread-winners,  or  to  starve,  and  her  figures  were 
so  convincing  that  her  listener  exclaimed:  "For 
love  of  heaven,  don't  go  up  any  higher!  Don't 
you  know  that  I  can't  add  more  figures  than  I  have 


finerers  on  mv  hand?" 


THE   TRAVELER 


187 


During  her  stay  in  Rome,  Miss  Willard  bad  the 
questionable  pleasure  of  being  present  at  an  "Ecu- 
menical Council,"  the  greatest  of  all  great  gather- 
ings of  the  Roman  Church,  meeting  but  once  in 
three  hundred  years. 

Long  before  daylight  the  muddy  streets  of 
Rome  swarmed  with  a  populace  moving  in  the 
direction  of  St.  Peter's,  and  when,  l)v  seven,  Miss 
Willard  with  her  party  arrived,  she  found  un- 
counted thousands  already  assembled,  and  cvcr\' 
passageway  blocked,  except  the  main  aisle,  through 
which  the  procession  was  to  pass,  this  being  held 
open  by  a  double  row  of  soldiers.  At  every  altar 
mass  was  being  celebrated  by  priests  and  devoted 
Catholics,  whose  voices  were  lost  in  the  deep,  con- 
tinued murmur  that  rolled  from  the  throats  of  fifty 
thousand  curious  and  half-suffocated  sightseers. 
Women  fainted  and  were  carried  out,  shawls  were 
torn  from  fair  ladies'  shoulders  and  borne  away  .by 
the  moving  mass  to  be  seen  no  more,  umbrellas 
were  dropped  and  trampled  under  foot,  hats 
were  pushed  from  many  heads  and  fell  to  be 
crushed  on  the  damp  marble  floors. 

After  standing  for  hours,  the  immense  throng 
was  rewarded  by  hearing  the  boom  of  minute  guns, 
mingled  with  the  joyful  peal  of  bells  and  the  clear 
notes  of  the   Pope's   choir.      Everv'^  soldier   stood 


ii 


i88 


.m    J^NCROrVNED   ^lUEEN 


with  lifted  bayonet,  and  Miss  Willard,  standing  on 
tip*oe  on  top  of  a  marble  altar,  tried  to  catch  sight 
of  the  wonderful  procession  as  it  moved  up  the 
central  aisle,  her  effort  only  resulting  in  the  distant 
vision  of  eight  hundred  gowned  officials  of  the 
Romish  Church  marching  with  due  solemnity  in  a 
procession  of  which  the  pope  brought  up  the  rear 
on  foot,  greatly  to  the  disappointment  of  the  many 
thousands  which  expected  to  see  His  Holiness 
borne  in  his  chair  of  state  high  over  the  heads  of 
the  gaping  multitude. 


CHAPTER  XVll 


Back  in  the  days  when  the  sky  line  that  bent  to 
the  prairie's  edge  marked  the  boundary  line  of  her 
world,  Frances  Willard  had  gazed  in  admiration, 
mingled  with  awe,  upon  pictures  of  those  venerable 
monuments  of  myst'-ry,  the  Pyramids;  and  her 
impression  of  them  when  she  herself  stood  under 
their  shadows,  and  climbed  their  highest  heights, 
is  best  told  in  her  own  words. 

Floating  down  the  River  Nile  in  a  steamer  bor- 
rowed from  the  Pasha  for  a  three  weeks'  tour,  she 
writes:  "We  came  to  feel  the  subtle  spirit  of  the 
East;  instead,  we  feel  Eg)'ptian  fleas.  We  came 
to  float  musingly  along  the  mystic  waters  of  the 
world's  most  curious  river;  instead,  we  go  snuffing, 
snorting,  shaking  over  its  tolerant  breast,  eyes  full 
of  smoke,  ears  full  of  discord,  noses  full  of  smells 
from  kitchen  and  from  coal-bin.  And  yet,  in  spite 
of  it  all,  I  shall  never  forget  one  evening's  ride;  it 
was  the  culmination  of  what  the  East  can  yield  me, 
and  ver)'  grateful  I  am  for  its  golden  memor\'. 
Above  me  were  new  heavens;  in  the  frame  of  a 
violet  sky  hung  constellations  I  had  never  seen 
before,  their  palpitating  golden  globes  like  the  fruit 

189 


I90     .^N   UNCKOirSED   yni'.EN 


waving  in  the  trees  of  Ilesperides.  And  dear 
familiar  stars  were  there,  only  in  places  very  difTer- 
ent  from  those  they  occupy  in  tlie  'infinite  meadows 
of  heaven'  that  l)end  al)ove  my  home.  Around  me 
a  new  earth,  and  the  sandv  plain  stretched  away 
into  the  purple  darkness  full  of  attractive  mystery. 
P'ar  off  gleamed  the  fire-tlv  lamps  of  an  Arab  vil- 
lage, and  on  the  cool,  invigorating  l)recze,  which 
had  succeeded  to  the  day's  stifling  heat,  came  the 
lonesome  bark  of  dogs  and  jackals,  so  characteristic 
of  the  East.  I  rode  under  magnificent  palm-trees 
of  a  symmetry  unequaled  by  any  hitherto  seen, 
and  casting  shadows  in  which  the  moonlight  mingled 
so  that  thev  looked  like  an  emblazoned  shield.  The 
white  walls  and  graceful  dome  of  a  shiek's  tomb 
gleamed  through  the  trees.  My  thoughts  flew 
across  the  sea — dear  mother,  for  whom  all  things 
lovely  and  noble  have  such  significance,  never 
looked  upon  a  palm-tree's  feathery  crest,  nor  saw 
it  mirrored  by  an  Oriental  moon  upon  the  desert's 
yellow  sand!  Dear  mother!  did  she  think  of  me 
that  night  and  pray  for  her  far-away  child.'  The 
landscape  was  dim  for  a  moment  as  my  heart  stirred 
at  thought  of  home.  I  rode  along  the  avenue  of 
Sphinxes  that  once  extended  over  the  mile  that 
separates  the  temple  of  Luxor  from  that  of  Kar- 
nack.      How  still   it  was.  and  how  significant  that 


77/A    TRAVh.LKR 


I VI 


stillness  in  the  hii^lnvay  throuf^h  which  tor  more 
than  two  tliousand  years  had  passed  what  was 
choicest  and  most  royal  in  the  wide  world-  proces- 
sions of  kings  and  priests  and  captives,  compared 
with  which  those  of  Rome  were  but  the  sport  of 
children;  and  this,  ere  Romulus  laid  the  first  stone 
of  his  famous  wall,  or  .l^ncas  fretted  the  blue  waves 
of  the  /Kgean  with  his  adventurous  prow.  The 
pride  and  glory  of  a  world  had  had  its  center  here 
ere  Cadmus  brought  letters  into  Greece,  or  Jacob 

had  his  vision  on  the  Judean  plain Our 

party  drove  from  Cairo  to  the  Pyramids  in  a 
barouche  worthy  the  Champs-KlysOes  at  Paris, 
along  twelve  miles  of  splendid  road,  quite  a  differ- 
ent way  of  getting  to  the  Pyramids  from  the  one 
reported  by  earlier  tourists,  who  toiled  on  donkey- 
back  through  burning  sands,  accompanied  by  an 
escort  of  vociferous  Ara])s.  The  barbarous  scenes 
of  which  our  Bible  speaks  lived  and  moved  again 
before  our  saddened  eyes.  A  part  of  the  embank- 
ment of  the  regal  highway  where  we  rode  was 
broken  down,  and  a  hundred  ragged  laborers  with 
baskets  on  their  heads  were  bringing  mud  for  its 
repair,  while  scattered  at  small  intervals  among 
them  were  swarthy  overseers,  each  with  his  whip 
which  he  plied  almost  unceasingly  about  the  heads 
and  shoulders  of  those  bearded  workmen,  of  those 


T92 


AN   UNCROIVNED    <^UEEN 


women  who  were  mothers,  while  they  all  crouched 
like  tlogs  beneath  the  lash.  We  drove  on  through 
fields  of  lentils,  like  those  for  which  hungry  Esau 
sold  his  birthright  to  long-headed  Jacol);  we  saw 
men  in  ample  gowns  of  blue  and  turbans  of  red, 
scratching  the  earth  with  one-handled  wooden 
plows,  leisurely  dragged  by  stolid  buffaloes;  the 
whole  scene  having  apparently  walked  out  of  the 
'Pictorial  Famil)  Bible'  that  we  left  behind  us. 
We  saw  at  frequent  intervals,  stalking  along  the 
road  with  listless  tread,  a  tall,  solemn  woman  of 
the  Egyptians,  with  a  little  child  sitting  astride  her 
shoulders,  as  Ishmael  may  have  sat  when  Hagar 
was  turned  away  from  Abraham's  inhospitable  tent, 
over  which  the  palm-tree  bent  its  feathery  head  as 
that  one  did  beneath  which  the  woman  leaned  to 
rest.  We  talked  of  the  theories  concerning  the  use 
of  the  Pyramids  which  have  been  held  at  different 

times  by  learned  men The  doctrine  of  the 

transmigration  of  souls  offers  the  only  answer  to 
the  question.  According  to  this  belief.  ever\'  spirit 
not  thoroughly  purified  on  its  departure  from  the 
body  must  pass  through  a  long  exile,  entering, 
successively,  into  the  bodies  of  different  animals, 
and  returning  after  cycles  of  these  transformations 
to  its  own  corporeal  form  again.  The  importance 
of  I'nding  its  own  still  in  existence,  and  in  a  toler- 


THE   TR.Il  EI.I'R 


•W 


able  state  of  repair,  will  readily  occur  to  thoughtful 
minds;   but  besides  the  horrid  possiljility  of  failure 
here,  the  disembodied  spTit   had  a  tliousand  other 
things  to  dread.      Wlienever  the  body  it  had  last 
left  became  sul)ject  to  corruption,  the  course  of  its 
migrations  was  suspended,  and  its  ardently  desired 
return  to  a  human  body — its  own— delayed.    Hence, 
every  form  of  animal  life  became  precious,  as  the 
possible  shrine  of  a  departed  friend.      The  greatest 
care  was  employed  in  prescr\-ing  all.  so  far  as  pos- 
sible,    from    becoming    decomposed.      This    was 
effected  by  the  intricate  and  mysterious  process  of 
embalming,  in  which  certain  orders  of  the  priest- 
hood  were    almost    constantly    employed.      After 
migrations  of  three  thousand  years  through  inferior 
animal  forms,  the  spirit  was  permitted,  as  has  been 
said,  to  return  to  its  own  human  bodv,  and  to  trv 
its  chances  once  again.      Now,  if  we  could,  by  a 
prodigious  effort  of  imagination,  put  ourselves  for 
a  moment  in  the  place  of  an  Egyptian  of  the  olden 
time,  and  if  we  could  conceive  of  the  an.xiety  with 
which  we  should  guard  against  the  possibility  of  a 
'failure  to  connect'  in  the  endless  whiHigig  I  have 
described,   we  might  appreciate  why  their  tombs 
are  finer  than  their  palaces;  why  the  dead  were  in 
their  thoughtr  more  than  the  living;  and  why,  when 
this  grotesque  belief  had  passed  into  the  life  and 


194     ^N   UNCROIVNED   ^UEEN 


heart  of  the  nation,  the  king,  who  had  all  resources 
at  his  command,  should,  on  his  coronation  day.  put 
his  whole  empire  under  contribution  to  begin  for 
him  a  tomb  which  should  rival  the  mountains  in  its 
stability  and  guard  his  paltry  dust  from  every 
chance  of  harm. 

"With  constant   notes  and   queries  about    the 
uses  and  abuses  of  the  Pyramids,  we  passed  along. 
We  crossed  the  limits  of  the  belt  of  green,  which 
is  old  Father  Nile's  perpetual  gift  to  Egypt;  the 
desert's  golden  edge  came  nearer,  and  at  last,  our 
white-robed  Arab  checked  his  steeds  at  the  foot  of 
Cheops'  Pyramid,  where— shade  of  great  Pharaoh, 
forgive  us  prosaic  Yankees! — the  Cheops  restaurant 
treated  us  to  Smyrna  dates  and  Turkish  coffee.     A 
banditti   of    Bedouins,    fierce-eyed    and   unsavory, 
surrounded  us  as  we  emerged  from  our  retreat,  and 
clamored  for  the  privilege  of  pulling  and  pushing, 
hoisting  and  halloing  us  up  the  saw-tooth  side  of 
the  monster  Pyramid.     We  got  speedily  to  wind- 
ward, assuring  them  that,  as  for  us.  we'd  'not  the 
least  idea  of  going  up'  (at  least  not  now)  and  turned 
aside  to  visit  the  tomb-pits  at  the  left,  hoping  to 
shake  off  the  odious  crew.      But  you  might  just  as 
well  try  to  dismiss  the  plague  by  a  dancing-room 
bow;  the  old  lady  Fate,  by  raising  your  hat;  or  the 
neighborhood  bore  by  a  glance  at  your  chronom- 


THE   TRAVELER 


195 


cter.  They  careered  before  us,  a  tatterdemalion 
throng;  they  lagged  behind  us;  they  helped  us 
over  the  stray  stones  the  Pyramid  has  shed,  with 
officious  hands  under  our  nervous  elbows;  and 
when  at  last  Dr.  Park  cleared  a  breathing  space 
for  us  by  whirling  his  cane,  they  danced  about  us, 
beyond  the  circle  thus  marked  out;  they  grinned, 
they  groaned,  they  laid  theii  hands  upon  their 
hearts  and  pointed  with  melodramatic  finger  to  the 
serene  heights  they  would  so  gladly  help  us  climb, 
while  the  one  refrain  from  which,  for  two  consecu- 
tive breaths  they  were  utterly  incapable  of  refrain- 
ing, was:  'Coin'  up  mister— madam?'  'Yankee 
Doodle  goin'  up?  Ver'  good,  thankee.  Yankee 
Doodle  go  up  ebry  time!'  But  we  passed  on  regard- 
less, and  they  were  left  lamenting.  We  walked 
upon  sealed  tombs;  the  whole  ground  for  miles 
about  this  group  of  Pyramids  is  honey-combed  with 

them Cheops  lifted  his  dimensions  toward 

the  sky  in  a  style  so  thoroughly  uncompromising 
that  we  felt  quite  in  haste  to  set  our  feet  on  his 
bald  crown.  But  our  hurry  did  not  at  all  compare 
with  that  of  the  wild  Arabs  gathered  at  its  base  and 
eager  for  their  prey.  They  knew  it  had  been  only 
a  question  of  time  when  we  threw  them  off,  with 
such  indomitable  purpose,  an  hour  ago.  Alas!  we 
knew  it  now.     Placuig  my  i^ucketbook  in  the  hand 


H 


196 


AN   UNCROWNED   ^rUEEN 


of  my  friend,  who  was  to  stay  below.  I  resigned 
myself  to  my  fate.  Just  here  1  will  confess  some- 
thing not  usually  divulged,  viz. :  I  had  cherished  a 
secret  determination  to  reach  the  top  before  any 
of  my  comrades.  The  undertaking  was  by  no 
means  trivial.  I  had  a  dim  suspicion  of  this 
before  I  started,  which  became,  as  I  set  out  (or  set 
up,  rather),  the  most  vivid  realizing  sense  of  all 
my  history.  Three  feet  and  a  half  at  a  step  is  a 
'departure.'  Just  try  some  day,  in  the  solitude  of 
your  apartment,  to  step  'genteelly'  from  floor  to 
mantelpiece  or  on  top  of  the  bureau;  do  this  one 
hundred  times  in  fourteen  minutes,  and  see  if  the 
achievement  isn't  a  feat,  though  it  may  not  prove 
a  'success.'  ....  Climbing  the  side  of  Cheops, 
then,  is  nothing  more  or  less  than  going  up  the 
most  outrageous  'pair  of  stairs'  on  earth,  under 
circumstances  the  most  harrowing.  But  I  got  on 
bravely,  in  spite  of  all.  Climbing  rapidly,  I  did 
not  once  sit  dov.-n  to  rest,  and  stopped  but  briefly 
thrice  to  breathe,  or  rather  to  puff  like  an  asthmatic 
locomotive;  my  Bedouins  meanwhile  tranquilly 
watching  the  spectacle,  and  cool  as  if  they  had  but 
iust  emerged  from  a  refrigerator.  Below,  I  could 
hear  the  advancing  steps  of  my  rivals  in  the  race, 
and  this  lending  ardor  to  my  flagging  zeal,  I 
clambered   on.      Ever   above   me,    with  extended 


THE   TRAVELER 


197 


hands,  were  two  solemn,  but  never  silent,  Bedouins; 
ever  beneath  my  shoulders  were  the  strong  hands 
of  a  burly  Egyptian,  while  for  me  the  only  possible 
thing  to  do  was  to  fix  my  foot  firmly  against  the 
upper  edge  of  the  stone  step  before  me.  and  to 
grasp  with  desperate  grip  the  steady  hands  of  those 
above,  they  going  up  backward  with  an  agility  which 
put  to  shame  my  own  backwardness  about  coming 
forward  in  this  business!  ....  The  wind  blew 
almost  fiercely  as  I  neared  the  summit.  The 
voices  of  my  friends  grew  silent,  a  long  way  below. 
High  up  in  the  crystal  air  I  saw  a  great  bird  sailing 
with  strong  and  steady  wing.  How  I  envied  his 
calm  flight!  At  last  I  lost  all  consciousness  of 
everything  save  the  frightful,  sledge-hammer  beat- 
ing of  my  heart.  'Yankee  Doodle  'most  got  up!' 
shouted  a  kindly  Arab,  and  in  a  moment  more  I 
was  standing,  tremblingly,  on  the  broad  summit  of 
the  Pyramid.  Though  more  dead  than  alive,  I 
insisted  in  crawling  to  the  loose  rocks  piled  on  the 
center  of  the  platform,  and  seating  myself  triumph- 
antly upon  the  topmost  stone.  Taking  from  my 
pocket  a  Jaffa  orange  (bought  with  this  same  intent  1, 
I  tore  it  open  and  buried  my  parched  lips  in  its 
juicy  pulp.  If  I  were  called  upon  to  name  the 
most  delectable  sensation  that  ever  human  palate 
knew,    i   should   rcici   lu  the   foiegoiug  incident. 


Hi] 


•■'■■  i] 


198     AN   UNCROIVNED  .^^UEEN 


You've  no  idea  how  quiet  and  composed  I  was, 
though,  as  the  rest  came  wheezing  into  view,  three 
minutes  later;  opera-glass  in  hand,  I  was  c  anting 
the  minarets  of  Cairo,  as  the  fainting  trio  stru^ded 
to  the  top,  and  were  met  by  my  Arabs  griii.nng 
from  ear  to  ear  at  our  achievements! 

"The  entrance  to  the  tomb,  for  the  sake  of 
which  the  Pyramid  was  reared,  had  been  carefully 
concealed  in  former  ages.  We  can  but  admire  the 
ingenuity  which  located  this  opening  twenty-three 
feet  to  the  right,  rather  than  in  the  center,  where 
one  would  naturally  look  for  it.  Another  precau- 
tion hardly  less  surprising  was  to  seal  up  the  pas- 
sageway, narrow  and  intricate  as  it  is,  when  the 
royal  builder  had  been  laid  in  his  tomb,  witl;  blocks 
of  granite  so  much  more  difficult  to  break  through 
than  the  ordinary  stone  of  the  Pyramid,  that  a  pas- 
sage has  been  forced  around  them.  In  these,  as  in 
every  feature  of  the  Pyramid,  it  will  be  seen  that 
the  security  of  the  body  one  dav  to  be  called  for  by 
the  soul  was  the  controlling  purpose  of  its  design. 
Through  a  passage  three  feet  eleven  inches  high, 
and  over  three  hundred  feet  in  length,  along  a 
downward  and  then  upward  angle  of  about  twenty- 
six  degrees,  we  wended  our  weary  way  to  the 
king's  tomb.  Clinging  now  to  slippery,  now  to 
cobwebbv   walls,  aiion  tu  liie  sleeve  of  some  offi- 


THE   TRAVELER 


199 


cious  Arab,  blinded  by  dust  from  the  wings  of 
countless  bats,  and  finally  measuring  off  the  dis- 
tance on  our  hands  and  knees,  we  made  a  dolorous 
procession  to  the  center  of  the  Pyramid  with  its 
empty  sepulcher.  We  found  as  a  reward  of  our 
pains  a  rectangular-shaped  chamber,  lined  with  red 
granite.  In  its  center  stands  a  sarcophagus  of  red 
granite,  too  large  to  have  been  introduced  through 
the  entrance  passage,  and  therefore  necessarily 
placed  here  before  the  Pyramid  was  built  around 
it.  Waving  the  Arabs  aside,  Dr.  Park  marshaled 
our  entire  party  of  five  into  this  coffin  of  the  elder 
world,  where  we  stood  in  a  strange-looking  row. 
with  the  flickering  torch-light  on  our  faces,  while 
at  the  bidding  of  our  leader,  we  sang  that  curious  old 
hymn,  'Hark,  from  the  Tombs  a  Doleful  Sound  I' 
Our  voices  woke  some  most  lugubrious  echoes;  our 
Arabs  listened,  looking  more  than  dumfounded 
at  our  performance.  Dr.  Park  smiled  audibly. 
But  his  mood  quickly  passed  from  gay  to  grave. 
'Sing  "Rock  of  Ages  Cleft  for  Mc,"  '  were  his 
next  words.  With  swelling  hearts  we  joined  in  the 
dear  old  hymn  we  learned  so  long  ago  and  so  far 
away.  At  its  close,  solemn  and  deep  sounded  the 
good  man's  words:  'The  Pyramids  may  crumble, 
but  the  Rock  of  Ages  stands  firm  and  secure. 
The  old  idolaf-y  that  reared  this  awful  tomb  has 


t 


200     AN   UNCROWNED  S^UEEN 

had  its  long,  its  little  day.  The  kingdom  of  our 
Lord  and  of  his  Christ  is  ushered  in,  and  we,  his 
ransomed  sons  and  daughters,  sing  of  him  who  hath 
loved  us,  standing  in  the  empty  coffin  of  the  idola- 
trous and  cruel  Pharaoh. '  ' ' 


CHAPTER    XVIII 


After  spending  a  month  in  Egypt,  Miss  Willard 
and  Miss  Jackson  sailed  from  Port  Said  to  Joppa, 
and  from  there  went  to  Jerusalem,  which  they  found 
to  be  one  of  the  most  disagreeable  and  dismal  cities 
they  had  yet  seen,  the  streets  being  narrow  and 
many  times  covered  their  entire  length  with  heavy 
stone  arches,  making  them  dark  and  gloomy. 

Miss  Willard's  first  walk  was  taken  through  the 
Via  Dolorosa,  where  she  was  shown  a  pillar  against 
which  Christ  is  said  to  have  reposed  when  weary 
with  his  march  to  Calvary;  another  pillar,  upon 
which  the  cock  is  supposed  to  have  stood  to  crow. 
In  the  Tomb  of  Christ  she  was  shown  the  slab  of 
stone  on  which  the  angel  is  said  to  have  sat  on  a 
morning  nineteen  hundred  years  ago.  But  these 
points  of  interest,  while  reverently  admired  by 
many  visitors,  and  covered  with  passionate  kisses 
by  unenlightened  devotees,  failed  to  arouse  much 
enthusiasm  in  Miss  Willard's  imagination,  for  she 
had  seen  Moses'  rod,  and  Adam's  tomb,  and  the 
"stone  that  cried  out,"  and  had  in  her  own  mind 
pronounced  them  frauds;  and  these  others  were  too 
nearly  like  them  to  inspire  her  confidence.     In  the 


ftl 


■  I- ' 


202     AN   UNCROIVNED 


^:iUEEN 


great  open  court  luiore  the  cinirch,  much  to  her 
disgust.  Miss  Willard  saw  great  numl)ers  of  venders 
of  beads,  crosses,  and  cigar-liolders,  squatting  close 
to  the  ground  with  their  wares,  whicli  tliiy  repre- 
sented as  being  priceless  souvenirs  from  sacred 
Calvary. 

A  visit  to  the  garden  of  Gethsemane  found  a 
small  inclosed  place  containing  some  magnificent 
olive-trees  and  planted  thickly  with  flowers.  With 
a  pair  of  long  scissors  which  hung  by  his  side,  an 
old  Italian  monk  clipped  some  of  these  flowers  for 
Miss  Willard;  but  they  were  to  her  no  more  than 
flowers  picked  from  any  other  historic  garden. 
She  had  not  yet  found  the  place  where  it  seemed 
the  Son  of  Man  might  have  trod  the  day  before. 

A  visit  to  the  Mount  of  Olives  brought  her 
nearer  to  this  place  tlian  she  had  been. 

Following  the  path  that  David  often  trod,  toward 
the  summit,  a  view  of  the  surrounding  country  was 
obtained  from  the  top  of  a  Moslem  minaret,  erected 
for  that  purpose.  From  this  position  could  be  seen 
the  Dead  Sea  lying  so  placid  in  the  distance;  the 
blue  mountains  of  Moab;  the  Judean  hills;  and 
away  beyond  stony  valleys  and  frowning  crags, 
Bethlehem,  the  birthplace  of  Jesus,  the  Saviour  of 
mankind. 

Of  this  visit  Miss  Willard  writes:  "An  after- 


THE   TRAVELER 


'o.l 


noon  upon  the  Mount  of  Olives!  To  a  devout  soul 
this  were  worth  a  pilgrimage  longer  than  any  other 
that  the  earth's  wide  belt  makes  possible.  And 
yet— and  yet — we  were  so  cold;  the  wind  blew  so 
searchingly;  curious  Arabs  pursued  us  so  relent- 
lessly; the  intellectual  part  of  studying  the  land- 
scape, and  the  practical  part  of  keeping  on  the 
backs  of  slippery  donkeys,  distracted  our  attention 
so  that  the  spiritual  part,  those  shy,  sweet  feelings 
of  the  heart;  those  tender,  child-like  aspirations; 
those  deep  and  solemn  contemplations  more  suited 
to  the  spot  than  to  any  other  in  all  the  earth,  had 
little  chance  to  hold  us.  But  I  had  some  quiet 
moments  of  priceless  worth.  Gleams  and  glimpses 
of  what  all  this  may  mean  flashed  through  my  soul. 
The  gentle,  helpless  face  of  Mary — my  sister 
Mary — shrined  forever  in  the  center  of  my  heart, 
looked  out  upon  me  fro.n  her  dying  pillow,  and 
that  failing  voice  uttered  again  the  words:  'Oh, 
Christ  has  come  to  me!  He  holds  me  by  the 
hand!'  That  same  Christ  to  whom  we  trusted 
Mary  walked  upon  this  mountain;  here  spent  the 
night  of  his  infinite  agony,  and  purchased  her  sweet 
soul's  redemption  on  the  bitter  cross,  within  sight 
of  where  I  stand!  Pale  and  wasted  and  framed  in 
hair  made  gray  by  suffering,  more  than  age.  another 
face  looked  on  me,  and  my  honored  father's  voice 


•04     /IN    UNCROIVNED   ^UEEN 


ranj;  in  my  cars:  'Christ  lived,  and  died,  and  rose 
aj;ain.  I'pon  this  faith  I  walk  right  out  over  the 
awful  gulf  to  death — and  I  am  not  afraid.'  Ah. 
how  these  tender  memories,  so  sad,  so  sacred,  so 
inspiring,  bring  home  to  me  the  reality  of  that  reli- 
gion which  was  born  in  yonder  gray  and  mournful 
city,  and  hence  has  swept  its  way  to  the  remotest 
corner  of  our  world. ' ' 

After  visiting  Bethany  and  other  points  of  inter- 
est near  Jerusalem,  and  after  camping  some  days 
on  the  plain  beyond  the  Jaffa  gate,  the  Dead  Sea 
was  visited  and  found  to  be  a  sight  well  worth  the 
long  journey,  though  the  stay  was  necessarily  short. 

Jericho  of  ancient  interest  was  made  a  stopping- 
place  on  the  way  to  Damascus,  the  latter  city  being 
a  poorly  paved,  muddy  place,  with  a  solitary  palm 
splendid  enough  to  make  one  forget  the  mud  and 
filth  underfoot  in  contemplation  of  the  emerald 
plumes  waving  softly  in  the  fresh  air  high  against 
the  blue,  and  under  the  spell  of  the  rustling  music 
played  by  the  breeze  against  its  sun-kissed  branches. 

Studying  the  woman  question  here  as  elsewhere, 
Miss  Willard  found  much  ''^  distress  her,  for  in 
this  place  she  saw  a  slave  market,  where  women 
and  young  girls  were  being  sold  into  slavery  of 
earth's  bitterest  kind. 

The  exterior  of  the  Oriental  homes  in  Damas- 


THE    TRAVELER 


205 


•>» 


ciis  was  iininvitirif;.  filth  and  dirt  of  ever)'  descrip- 
tion abounding;  in  the  streets  even  to  the  doors. 
!Uit  once  inside  the  doorway  of  a  home  belonging  to 
a  man  of  the  better  class,  and  the  scene  changes 
suddenly  into  Oriental  fairyland.  Fountains  sparkle 
in  an  open  court,  and  throw  their  spray  over  orange- 
trees  growing  in  marble  basins,  and  Damascus 
roses,  gorgeous  and  fragrant.  In  the  cool  and 
shady  rooms  of  the  house  vel^vet  furniture  of  grace- 
ful shape  adorns  the  parlor.  Colored  lights  fall 
through  stained  glass  windows  over  rich  carpets. 
Innumerable  mirrors  reflect  brightly  colored  hang- 
ings, and  silver  lamps  and  delicate  china  ware  of 
Oriental  design  give  the  elegant  apartment  a  highly 
artistic  apppearance. 

After  spending  a  month  in  the  Holy  Land,  Miss 
Willard  and  her  friend  sailed  from  Beyrout  for 
Athens  and  Constantinople,  stopping  en  route  at 
Cypress,  Smyrna,  and  Ephesus. 

The  visit  to  Athens  was  especially  pleasant. 
Unlike  the  Oriental  cities  she  had  left,  Miss  Willard 
found  this  birthplace  of  the  arts  clean,  its  vvide 
streets  lined  with  large  modern  shops,  its  sidewalks 
smooth  and  well  arranged,  and  its  hotels  like  palaces, 
compared  with  the  inns  she  had  for  the  last  few 
months  been  stopping  at. 

Securing  a  guide,  Miss  Willard  and  Miss  Jack- 


% 


■(  : 


'•r 


io6      //A'    UNCROirXEl) 


y^UEKN 


son  visited  the  points  of  interest,  driviiiff  first  to  tin 
Acropolis.  Winding;  around  the  base  of  the  famous 
hill,  and  passing;  thiough  three  great  gates,  they 
reached  tlie  gray  and  broken  ruin  of  the  Parthenon, 
one  of  the  most  impressive  sights  they  had  yet  seen, 
after  which  the  travelers  followed  the  road  that 
wound  its  steep  way  up  the  njck  in  the  age  of 
Pericles. 

Sailing  from  Constantinople,  after  visiting  its 
points  of  interest,  and  studying  its  customs  and 
people  for  a  few  days,  the  travelers,  by  way  of  the 
Bosphorus.  went  up  the  Danube  to  Vienna,  and 
from  Vienna  to  Paris,  where  they  remained  a 
month. 

After  a  visit  to  London,  Southampton,  and  Isle 
of  Wight,  they  returned  to  Paris  for  a  fourth  visit, 
after  which  they  went  to  Liverpool,  from  which 
city  they  sailed  for  New  York  early  in  September, 
having  been  abroad  the  greater  portion  of  two 
years,  and  given  in  exchange  for  the  pleasures  and 
privileges  of  their  travels  the  sum  of  twelve  thou- 
sand dollars  in  gold. 

Rut  Miss  Willard's  travels,  extensive  as  they 
had  been,  were  by  no  means  to  complete  the  list 
of  her  itinerary.  Her  native  land,  with  its  unex- 
celled scenery,  its  enterprising  cities,  and  its  big- 
hearted  people,  was  to  be  traveled  from  North  to 


77/ A    TR.-trh.l.I'.R 


:o7 


Soutli  and  Ironi  Itlast  to  West,  but  tlus  traveling 
was  not  to  take  place  until  after  a  rest  of  several 
years. 

Notes  from  her  American  travels  reveal  the  fact 
that  the  West  was  a  favorite  section  with  Miss 
W'illard.  perhaps  it  was  the  love  for  the  wild,  free 
life  of  Forest  Home,  grown  large  enough  as  a 
woman's  choice  to  take  in  the  whole  extent  of 
western  hills  and  prairies,  though  the  South  came 
in  for  a  large  share  of  her  love. 

.Many  delightful  descriptions  and  pleasing  narra- 
tives are  given  in  her  notes,  but  the  scene  that 
impressed  her  mo.'  all  her  American  travels  was 
her  first  vision  of  th.  V'osemite: 

"Who  can  fitly  tell  of  the  condensed  iuipres- 
sions  about  (iod  made  by  a  valley  only  six  miles 
long,  one  mile  wide,  and  halt  a  mile  high,  wherein  all 
forms  of  solemn,  majestic,  and  pastoral  beauty  are 
combined.'  When  after  a  mountain  ride  of  half  a 
day,  surrounded  by  inclined  planes  of  evergreen, 
each  of  which  would  have  been  a  world's  wonder  in 
the  East,  with  superb  curves  in  the  road  evermore 
opening  fresh  vistas  of  illimitable  height,  verdure, 
and  beauty,  we  rounded  Inspiration  Point,  'there 
was  no  more  spirit  in  me.'  Word-pauperism  op- 
presses one  upon  this  height  as  nowhere  else  on 
earth.     There  is  in  Europe  a  single  revelation  of  art 


I 


loH      AN    UNCROIVNED   ^Z^EEN 


that  has  power  to  silence  the  chatter  even  of  fashions' 
devotees,  and  that  is  Raphael's  Sistine  Madonna. 
1  have  been  in  its  seraphic  presence  for  hours  at  a 
time,  but  never  heard  a  vocal  comment.  The 
foamiest  natures  are  not  silenced  by  Niagara.  by- 
Mont  Blanc,  by  the  Jungfrau's  awful  purity,  or  the 
terrors  of  Vesuvius,  for  their  flippant  tones  have 
smitten  me  in  all  these  sacred  places.  But  from 
the  little  child  in  our  midst— a  bright-faced  boy  of 
four — to  the  rough,  kind-hearted  driver,  not  one 
word  was  spoken  by  our  party  as  the  heavenly 
vision  of  Yosemitc,  framed  in  fleecy,  flying  clouds, 
greeted  our  thoughtful  eyes,  and  spoke  of  God  to 
our  hushed  souls.  Except  beside  the  dying  bed  of 
my  beloved  I  have  never  felt  the  veil  so  thin 
between  me  and  the  world  ineffable — supernal." 

So  said  the  little  girl — to  a  woman  grown — who 
had,  on  a  long  ago  day,  looked  out  on  the  gray,  wet 
world  bounded  by  her  own  narrow  vision,  asking 
what  seemed  the  hopeless  question,  "Shall  I  ever 
go  anywhere,  or  see  anybody.'" 


PART    V 


i 


THE   REFORMER 

"Greater  tai. amities  akk  iNFUcxEn  on  mankind 

BY    INTEMl'l'.KANCK    THAN    I!Y    THE    THKEE    CHEAT    HISTOK 
ICAL   SCOIKGES  — WAR,    I'EbTILENCE,   AND    FAMINE." 

"The    FINEST    FRriT    EARTH    HOI.Ijn    II-  TO  ITS  MaKEK 
IS    A    MAN." 


CHAPTER    XIX 

While  sIk'  was  yet  a  child,  and  (hiring  the  vears 
Miss  Willard  spt'iit  as  a  teacher  and  traveler,  the 
most  hUgliting  curse  that  ever  \\•rou,^ilt  havoc  with 
tile  human  race— the  curse  of  intemperance— was 
afflicting  Hke  a  great  mural  and  nhvsical  scour"-e 
he  people  of  her  native  land,  and  indirectly  enter- 
ing into  the  shaping  of  a  nation's  destiny. 

This  curse,  almost  as  old  in  its  effects  as  the 
human  race  itself,  had  begun  to  show  its  blighting 
influences  in  the  new  country  before  the  year  1651, 
at  which  time  the  first  law  calculated  to  control  the 
traffic  in  intoxicating  drinks  was  passed  at  East 
Hampton,  L.ong  Island. 

From  this  time  on  laws  of  different  kinds  were 
framed,  looking  to  the  control  of  what  was  then 
known  to  be  a  growing  evil,  and  as  the  traffic  in 
intoxicants  extended  its  territory,  assuming  new 
liberty  with  every  step,  many  societies  began  to  be 
formed  for  the  purpose  of  rescuing  individuals  from 
its  destroying  power  and  checking  its  further  growth. 
The  efforts  thus  put  forth  met  with  varving  degrees 
of  success  until  the  year  18O2,  when  the  Internal 
R  ev'<'''iiii>    Art  tii-irl<.  t)-.,.  \\i.,-,{^Y  »^.,ri;^  i  — 1 

r ,.,.^      .,,,_      !Rjt.lL,-r     llUim.     IVgui. 

311 


212     AN    UNCROlVi\h:D   ^^UEEN 


This  act.  which  was  passed  as  a  war  measure 
for  the  purpose  of  obtaining  revenue,  was  bitterly 
opposed  by  some  of  the  more  far-sighted  statesmen 
of  the  party  then  in  power,  who  contended  that  such 
an  act  would  place  the  government  in  the  attitude 
of  partnership  with  the  liquor  traffic,  and  make  it 
legal,  and  was  signed  by  tht;  president  only  as  an 
extreme  war  -leasure.  to  be  in  force  so  long  as 
necessary  for  this  purpose. 

The  passage  of  this  act  was.  however,  a  signal 
victory  for  those  engaged  in  liquor  interests,  and 
from  that  day  the  traffic  grew  by  leaps  and  bounds, 
working  its  powerful  way  into  political  and  com- 
mercial life,  and  rapidly  g'-owing  more  arrogant 
and  more  menacing,  until  its  blight  was  felt  in  every 
hamlet  of  a  great  and  progressive  nation. 

Poverty  and  crime  increased  with  the  increased 
power  of  the  liquor  traffic.  Misery  and  pain  and 
sorrow  spread  in  proportion  as  it  gained  power, 
until  the  voice  of  some  mother  mourning  for  her 
slain,  sounded  on  every  passing  breeze;  while  an 
ever-increasing  army  of  sons  and  husbands  took 
their  long  death  march  toward  drunkards'  graves. 
Moved  to  action  by  the  desolation  caused  in  their 
own  town  by  the  li(iu>.r  traffic,  and  the  seeming 
helplessness  of  the  men  of  the  place,  the  women  of 
Hillsboro.  G.iio,  acting  on  the   auviC\.-  Oi   a  notcj 


THE   REFORMER 


-•3 


lecturer  who  visited  them,  banded  themselves 
together  for  an  effort  to  close  the  saloons  in  their 
own  town. 

Theirs  was  to  be  no  royal  battle  of  swords  and 
blood,  but  a  crusade  of  peace,  waged  in  the  strength 
of  the  God  thev  trusted,  and  their  method  was  to 
try  by  prayer  and  womanly  pleading  to  induce  the 
men  engaged  in  selling  liquor  to  close  their  places 
of  destruction. 

The  reception  given  these  women,  who  belonged 
to  the  best  families  of  the  town,  was  not  always 
pleasant,  but  one  by  one  the  saloons  closed  their 
doors,  until  the  town  of  Hillsboro  was  without  an 
open  saloon. 

From  this  point  the  crusade  swept  like  a  "whirl- 
wind from  the  Lord, ' '  the  mothers  and  wives  in 
many  cities  taking  up  the  peaceful  fight.  Great 
scenes  took  place.  In  Cincinnati,  a  procession  of 
women,  including  the  wives  of  some  of  the  most 
respectable  citizens  of  the  place,  were  arrested  and 
put  in  jail.  In  Cleveland  dogs  -vere  set  upon  the 
heroic  band  of  women  who  were  fighting  as  only 
disfranchised  citizens  could  fight  for  the  protection 
of  their  homes  and  children.  In  some  saloons  an 
■ittempt  was  made  to  smoke  the  crusaders  out,  in 
others  to  drown  them  out,  and  in  one  instance  a 
blunderbuss  was  pointed  at  them. 


H 
I 


-14 


AN   UNCROIVNED    ^-HJEEN 


But  the  women  wiio  had  been  put  in  jail  turned 
their  prison  into  a  nieetinj;-house;  the  women  wlio 
were  set  upon  by  dogs  tamed  them  into  subjection, 
and  the  woman  at  whom  the  gun  was  pointed 
marched  to  its  mouth  singing  "Xever  Be  Afraid  to 
Work  for  Jesus. ' '  When  the  crusade  reached 
Chicago,  it  took  form  in  an  effort  made  by  a  num- 
ber of  women  to  have  the  saloons  closed  on  Sunday. 
Even  this  moderate  demand  on  the  part  of  the 
women  greatly  enraged  the  saloon-keepers,  and  a 
mob  gathered  around  the  building  where  the  women 
were,  from  which  they  only  escaped  in  safety 
through  a  back  door. 

But  in  spite  of  insults  and  personal  dangers,  the 
women  succeeded  in  freeing  about  two  hundred 
cities  and  towns  from  saloons  where,  amid  the  ring- 
ing of  church  bells,  casks  and  barrels  were  broken 
open  and  their  contents  poured  into  the  gutters. 

Xews  of  this  remarkable  and  peaceful  uprising 
of  the  wives  and  mothers  of  a  country  was  read  in 
the  daily  papers  by  interested  thousands,  and  among 
the  numl^er  none  read  of  the  insults  and  dangers 
and  victories  and  joys  of  the  crusade  band  with 
more  interest  than  did  Miss  Willard,  who  was  at 
that  time  dean  of  the  Northwestern  University. 

Until  this  time  she  had  never  given  the  sub- 
ject uf   iiilc-mperanci.   anv    speeiai   study,    tnd   the 


THE   REFORMER 


215 


crusade  movement  appealed  to  her  more  as  a 
•.voman's  effort  to  protect  her  home  than  as  an 
effort  to  strike  at  the  [.oHtical  and  commercial 
interests  of  a  powerful  traffic,  and  she  at  once 
determined  to  lend  what  help  she  could  to  the 
cause  by  using  her  influence  in  its  behalf  in  the 
school-room,  little  dreaming,  even  as  yet,  that  she 
was  to  be  the  foremost  woman  in  the  greatest 
moral  referm  of  the  age  in  which  she  lived. 

Drawn  by  an  irresistible  desire  to  know  more  of 
the  causes  and  effects  of  the  crusade.  Miss  Willard, 
after  resigning  her  position  in  the  Northwestern 
University,  which  she  did  about  this  time,  made  a 
trip  East,  meeting,  among  other  prominent  temper- 
ance workers,  Ncal  Dow,  the  father  of  the  Maine 
Prohibition  Law,  and  that  "strong,  sweet  woman," 
Mrj.  L.  M.  N.  Stevens,*  also  of  Maine. 

It  required  only  a  limited  study  of  the  conditions 
effected  by  the  liquor  traffic  to  convince  Miss 
Willard  that  in  it  was  to  be  found  the  monster 
iniquity  of  the  age,  the  breeder  of  poverty  and  vice, 
the  enemy  of  justice,  the  destroyer  of  ho-.ies,  and 
the  debaucher  of  manhood,  and  as  she  mused  on 
these  things,  the  fires  of  the  desire  to  make  the 
world  better  that  had  long  slumbered  in  her  soul 
broke  into  an   irresistible   flame,    and  the    great. 

*  \f^c  c»p._.Ape  «,;'.crf*t'ded  Mis?.  WilLird  ?.6.  '^}resident  ot  the  Wocnans 
Christian  Temperance  Union. 


I 


fid 


2i6      AN   UNCROIVNED  y^UEEN 


untried  field  of  a  tcmpcranct  reformer  seemed  to 
open  before  her. 

As  both  her  own  and  her  mother's  support  now 
depended  on  Miss  Willard's  efforts,  she  sought  the 
advice  of  some  of  her  trusted  friends,  every  one  of 
whom,  inchiding  her  mother  and  her  reverend  coun- 
selor. Bishop  Simpson,  united  in  the  decision  he 
thus  expressed,  "If  you  were  not  dependent  on 
your  own  exertions  for  the  supply  of  current  needs, 
I  would  say,  be  a  philanthropist;  but  of  all  work, 
the  temperance  work  pays  least,  and  you  cannot 
afford  to  take  it  up.  I  therefore  counsel  you  to 
remain  in  your  chosen  and  successful  field  of  the 
higher  education." 

This  advice,  while  solicited  and  conscientiously 
given,  did  not  satisfy  Miss  Willard,  and  while  still 
considering  the  grave  and  unsettled  question.  :^.he 
opened  her  Bible  one  night  to  the  words,  "Trust 
in  the  Lord  and  do  good;  so  shalt  thou  dwell  in 
the  land,  and  verily  thou  shalt  be  fed." 

The  brief  minute  spent  in  reading  this  passage 
represented  the  turning-point  in  her  life,  and  marked 
the  beginning  of  the  long  walk  she  was  to  take  by 
faith  instead  of  by  sight. 

Shortly  after  this  she  received  in  one  day  two 
letters.  The  first  was  an  invitation  to  Miss  Willard 
to  take  charge  as  "Lady  Principal"  of  an  elegant 


I 


THE   REFORMER 


«7 


school  for  young  women,  near  Central  Park.  New 
York,  at  a  salary  of  twenty-four  hundred  dollars  a 
year,  and  as  few  classes  as  she  chose  to  hear. 

The  second  letter  was  from  one  of  the  temper- 
ance band  in  Chicago,  and  said:  "It  has  come  to 
me.  as  I  believe,  from  the  Lord,  that  you  ought  to 
be  our  president.  We  are  but  a  little  band,  with- 
out money  or  experience,  but  with  strong  faith.  I 
went  right  out  to  see  some  of  our  leading  women, 
and  they  all  say  that  if  you  will  agree  to  come, 
there  will  be  no  trouble  about  your  election. 
Please  let  me  hear  at  once." 

And  now.  indeed.  Miss  Willard  stood  where  she 
must  choose  her  future  pathway.  The  two  paths 
opened  before  her.  and  in  her  hand  she  held  an 
invitation  to  each. 

One  pathway  was  that  of  an  educator.  The 
work  would  not  be  hard,  her  companions  and 
friends  would  be  cultured,  and  she  would  have 
plenty  of  time  for  the  study  she  so  much  loved  and 
to  be  with  her  dear  mother,  who  was  now  growing 
old.  besides  which  she  would  have  a  salary  suffi- 
cient to  meet  all  her  needs. 

The  other  pathway  was  that  of  the  reformer. 
The  work  would  be  difficult  and  niai.  -  times  thank- 
less; her  associates  would  not  always  be  knightly 
men  and  gentle  ladict..  m\{^\  she  would  come  in  close 


'  H 


21 S      .IN    VXCROIVNRD   yUTREN 


personal  contact  many  times  witli  moral  wrecks 
made  bv  the  saloon,  both  men  and  women.  She 
would  have  no  time  for  study,  little  time  to  be  at 
home,  and  she  had  no  promise  of  any  financial 
assistance.  Yet  she  freely  and  gladly  chose  the 
latter  pathway,  declining  the  New  York  offer,  and 
very  soon  after  started  for  the  West. 

On  her  way  to  Chicago.  Miss  Willard  had  her 
first  and  only  experience  in  crusade  work,  at  Pitts- 
burg, where  she  stopped  ft)r  a  few  days. 

She  had  never  been  inside  a  saloon,  but  wishing 
to  get  ac(iuainted  with  the  foe  she  sought  to  fight, 
she  set  out  with  a  band  of  women  for  the  scene  of 
the  meeting. 

The  first  saloon  which  they  intended  to  visit, 
they  were  forbidden  to  enter,  and  stood  instead  at 
the  door  and  sang  "Jesus  the  Water  of  Life  Will 
Give."  after  which  a  sad-faced,  broken-hearted 
mother,  whose  only  boy  had  been  lured  to  destruc- 
tion through  this  same  place,  knelt  on  the  cold, 
damp  pavement  and  prayed  as  only  outraged 
motherhood  knows  how  to  pray. 

The  next  saloon,  the  women  were  permitted  to 
enter,  and  the  leader,  placing  her  Bible  on  the  bar, 
read  some  scripture,  after  which  Miss  Willard  was 
asked  to  pray. 

And  so  she  knelt  in  the  sawdust  of  a  F'ittsburg 


THE   REFORMER 


«9 


saloon — this  woman  whose  soul  was  set  in  har- 
mony with  the  beautiful  and  sublime,  whose  heart 
beat  with  reverend  ecstasy  when  in  the  presenc" 
of  nature's  majestic  handiwork,  whose  entire  be- 
ing poured  itself  out  in  silent  admiration  before 
the  masterpieces  of  man's  art;  and  with  a  few  con- 
secrated women  around  her.  and  an  unkempt, 
unwashed  throng  of  street  waifs  and  saloon  ha- 
bitues filling  every  corner  and  crowding  their  way 
even  to  the  edge  of  the  sidewalk,  prayed  as  she 
had  never  prayed  save  at  the  bedside  of  her  dying 
sister. 

This  was  her  baptism  for  her  mighty  mission. 


.1 


CHJPTER  XX 


Miss  Willanl  s  first  \nih\k  speech  was  dclivcrul 
before  she  entered  the  timperance  work,  and  came 
about   naturally  as   a  result  of  her  extended  trip 

abroad. 

At  different  meetings  of  the  niissionarv'  society 
to  which  she  belonged,  she  had  pictured  for  her 
hearers,  scenes  and  conditions  that  had  attracted 
her  attention  in  the  European  countries,  and  one 
of  these  short  addresses  was  listened  to  by  a  visitor 
on  one  occasion  with  great  pleasure. 

A  few  ilays  later.  Miss  Willard  was  surprised 
by  a  visit  from  a  well-known  citizen  of  Chicago, 
who  said  that  he  had  heard  her  >ipeak  before  the 
missionary  society,  that  he  thought  she  haci  the 
art  of  "putting  things,"  self-possession,  and  many 
other  recii'.isites  of  a  good  speaker,  and  that  if  she 
would  agree  on  her  part  to  deliver  a  public  lecture, 
he  would  agree  to  secure  the  Centenary  Church,  of 
which  he  was  a  trustee,  work  up  a  good  audience, 
pay  her  a  fair  price,  and  sec  that  the  lecture  was 
well  represented  by  the  press  of  Chicago. 

After  he  had  gone   Miss  Willard  was  left   to 
decide    what    was    then    a    momentous    question. 


THE    REl'ORMEK 


IiiMiKiiccd  partly  by  a  desire  she  had  always  had 
to  speak  in  public,  a-  1  partly  by  her  inotlier's 
advice,  wlio  said.  "My  child,  enter  every  open 
<loor,"  she  decided  in  favor  of  the  lecture,  which 
she  iniMiediately  set  about  preparin),\  under  title 
"The  New  Chivalry." 

This  lecture  was  carefully  made  up  of  observa- 
tions upon  women  in  Europe,  whose  condition  in 
many  places  had  brought  pain  to  her  heart  and 
tears  to  her  eyes,  and  of  a  happy  prophecy  of  the 
days  that  are  to  come,  the  days  of  "The  New 
Chivalry,"  when  "Fair  play  for  the  weaker"  in- 
stead of  "Dy  my  lady's  bright  eyes,"  will  be  the 
cry  of  the  gallant  knight. 

In  this  first  lecture  she  said:   "Those  lands  of 
which  I   told  you,  made  me  very  sad.      I   had  not 
known  what  a  wide  world  it   is,  and  how  fit!!  of 
misirv.      Walking  in    <he  market-place  of    proud 
Berlin,  where  dogs  and  women  were  fastened  side 
bv  sitle  to  carts  laden  with  countrv  merchandise; 
riding  along  unfrequented   Italian  roads,   where   I 
encountered    at   one   end   of  the  plow  a  cow  and 
woman  yoked  together,  while  at  the  other  end  a 
man  presided,  whip  in  hand;  or  watching  from   a 
car  window  as  we  whirled  along  from  .Mexandria 
to  Cairo,   women    building    railway  embankments 
under  the  uvei seer's   iasn.    now  (jileii  nave  tears 


22  2      .^N    CNCROIVNF.D   ,^UEEN 

blurred  these  <jrievous  scenes,  as  I  felt  how  help- 
less one  frail  ami  must  be  to  right  such  wrongs. 
Sometimes  it  seemed  sweetly  niysteri(jus  to  me, 
but  I  understand  it  now,  that  always  when  my 
heart  was  aching  over  the  measureless  woes  of 
women  in  almost  every  land  beyond  the  seas,  a 
voice  would  whisper,  '  Xot  to  these,  l)ut  to  the  dear 
girls  of  your  home  shall  you  be  sent,  and  some  day 
the  broader  channels  of  their  lives  shall  send 
streams  of  healing  to  these  far-off  shores.'  " 

In  her  extensive  study  of  the  woman  question, 
both  at  home  and  abroad.  Miss  Willard  had  not 
fallen  into  an  error  common  to  many  big-hearted 
reformers  and  philanthropists,  viz.,  that  of  charging 
to  the  account  of  the  Christian  religion  the  withhold- 
ing of  that  degree  of  civil  liberty  that  is  yet  withheld 
from  the  women  of  Christian  countries. 

Her  observation  had  taught  her  that  beyond 
dispute,  woman's  condition,  the  world  around, 
e.xalted  or  debased,  is  decided  by  the  degr.e  in 
which  the  teachings  of  the  Founder  of  Christianity 
are  put  in  practice  or  abused. 

After  the  first  victory  gained  by  the  crusaders, 
they  went  to  their  homes  in  the  towns  from  which 
the  saloon  had  been  driven,  feeling  secure  against 
the  evil  influence  of  the  enemv  of  their  homes. 


But   their  Victory  was  short 


"1 —  — ...1,1   „„♦ 


THE   REFORMER 


223 


always  walk  the  streets  pleading  with  saloon-keep- 
ers to  close  their  doors,  and  very  soon  the  saloon 
had  opened  its  doors  in  more  places  than  before. 

Then  it  was  \}  1.  t!ic  women,  lookinj,^  to  a  more 
complete  victor  in  the  distant  future,  banded  them- 
selves into  the  j  '  r  cr  woma  I's  club,  known  as  the 
"Woman's  Christian  T>.,i;|.erance  I'nion." 

It  was  a  branch  of  this  organization  that  Miss 
Willard  was  elected  president  of  when  she  returned 
from  her  Eastern  tour  to  Chicago. 

After  she  had  been  chosen  president  of  the  Chi- 
cago Woman's  Christian  Temperance  Union,  the 
ladies  said,  "We  have  no  money,  but  we  will  try 
to  get  some  if  you  will  tell  us  how  much  you  want. ' ' 

But  Miss  Willard  named  no  amount,  thinking 
that  the  time  had  come  to  trust  implicitly  in  God. 
but  said  instead.  "O.  that  will  be  all  right." 

Supposing  that  Miss  Jackson  would  assist  Miss 
Willard,  the  ladies  made  no  allowance  for  her 
needs. 

Miss  Jackson  was.  however,  a  thousand  miles 
away,  and  Miss  Willard  would  hardly  have  called 
on  her  for  help  had  she  been  with  her.  for  she  had 
entered  the  work  against  her  friend's  wishes.  Miss 
Jackson  holding  to  the  opinion  that  Miss  Willard 's 
mission  in  life  was  to  be  an  educator.  So  she  said. 
"I  am  going  to  pray,  to  work,  and  to  trust  God." 


I  >l 

f 'I 


124      ^^N    UNCROirNED    }:lUEEi\ 


and  s-'lectinj:  for  her  molto  ilic  words  "  For  dcxl 
and  Home  and  Native  Land."  Miss  Willard  went 
to  work  in  earnest. 

She  opened  the  first  Woman's  Christian  Tem- 
perance Union  "Headquarters"  ever  opened;  she 
visited  the  editors  of  different  Cliicago  papers,  fur- 
nishing such  editors  as  would  make  use  of  them 
items  regarding  her  work;  and  she  went  to  other 
cities  and  towns  in  the  state  organizing  Woman's 
Christian  Temperance  I'nions,  and  receiving  for 
pay  onlv  such  small  amounts  as  were  dropped  into 
the  collection  haskct  at  her  evening  addresses. 

Many  times  she  went   without   eating   at  noon- 
time because  she  had  not  the  necessary  amount  of 
money  for  a  lunch;   manv  miles  she  walked  on  the 
streets  of   Chicago  because   siie  had  not  five  cents 
with  which  to  pay  c.w-fare.      Puit  she  was  not  alto- 
gether sorry  to  be   hungry.   Un  as  she  walked   the 
streets  she  saw  many  others  who  were  hur.gry  and 
penniless,  and  she  thought  of  them,  "I'm  a  better 
friend  than  you  dream.      I   know  more  about  you 
than  vou  think,  for,  bless  God,  I'm  hungry,  too." 
Oliver,  who  had   returned  from  Colorado  some 
time  before,  thought  it  was  all  right   to  trust  God 
but  he  considered  it   the  part  of  wisdom  to  add 
some  effort  to  the  trusting. 

<<r:,._..i.    •'  U^  o',;^!     ",-r>nr   fnith  mctliod   is  simplv 


THE    REFORM EK 


-3 


i\  challci  c  to  tliL'  Almighty.  N'ou'w  put  a  chip 
on  your  bhoukler  and  darcii  Omnipotence  to  knock 
it  off." 

After  several  months  spent  this  wav.  Frances 
found,  that  in  a  measure  at  least,  her  brother's 
words  were  true.  Her  constitution,  never  strong, 
could  not  stand  the  strain,  and  for  days  before  she 
finally  gave  up.  she  felt  the  approach  of  an  illness 
that  brought  about  a  better  understanding  between 
herself  and  the  ladies  of  the  Woman's  Christian 
Temperance  L'nion  in  Chicago. 

After  a  lecture  which  she  delivered,  even  after 
the  fever  had  taken  hold  of  her.  Miss  Willard  went 
home  to  bed.  requesting  her  mother  to  sunniion  a 
physician, 

"No,"  answered  Mrs,  Willard,  "you  are  going 
by  faith;  you  do  not  need  a  doctor,"  for  well  she 
knew  her  daughter  had  worked  herself  sick  over 
walking,  and  doing  without  regular  meals,  and  she 
wanted  to  show  her  the  inconsistency  of  her  posi- 
tion. 

"Now,  I  want  you  to  listen  to  your  mother," 
she  said.  "I  believe  in  faith  as  much  as  you  do. 
but  you  have  flown  in  the  face  of  Providence. 
Those  good  women  offered  to  pay  you  the  dav  they 
chose  you  president.  That  was  your  Heavenlv 
Father's  kind  provision,  and  you  turned  away  ironi 


226      /IN    UNCIiOlVNEl)    ^^UEEN 


it  and  dictated  to  him  the  method  of  hi  .re. 
God  isn'  t  going  to  start  loaves  ot  bread 
flying  down  the  chimney,  nor  start  fire  in  my  stove 
without  tuel.  I  sliall  soon  see  the  bottom  of  my 
flour-l)arrel  and  coal-bin.  You  arc  out  at  the 
ell)ow.  down  at  the  heel,  and  down  sick.  too.  Now, 
write  to  those  temperance  ladies  a  plain  statement 
of  facts,  and  tell  them  they  may  help  you  if  they 

like." 

Acting  on  this  advice,  Miss  Willard  wrote  the 
letter  and  received  in  reply  a  check  for  a  hundred 

dollars. 

Soon  after  she  recovered  from  this  illness.  Miss 
Willard  attended  a  meeting  which  was  held  in 
Cleveland  for  the  purpose  of  organizing  a  National 
Woman's  Christian  Temperance  Union,  and  of 
which  organization  she  was  elected  secretary,  with 
a  salary  of  one  hundred  dollars  a  month. 

From  this  time  her  field  of  labors  widened. 
Her  travels  extended  to  the  cities  and  towns  of 
many  Northern  and  Eastern  states,  where  she  organ- 
ized local  Woman's  Christian  Temperance  Unions. 

While  traveling  in  the  different  states,  she  re- 
ceived many  letters  and  telegrams,  these  latter 
never  being  opened  until  after  a  short  prayer,  for 
to  her  a  telegram  was  always  ominous. 

It  was  well  that  she  had  trained  herself  to  this 


THE  REFORMER 


habit,  for  much  sad  news  canio  to  her  over  the 
wires,  the  saddest  on  that  day  when  she  received 
news  of  her  brother's  death. 

She  was  in  Michigan  when  she  received  the 
telegram  which  read,  '  Your  brother  Oliver  died 
this  morning:  funeral  Tuesday." 

The  news  was  a  great  shock,  for  Miss  Willard 
had  left  him  hut  a  few  days  before,  little  thinking 
she  would  never  see  him  again.  It  seemed  that  it 
could  not  be  true  that  Oliver — her  only  brother 
— had  gone  awav,  that  she  would  never  hear 
him  speak  her  name  again  or  listen  to  his  merry 
laughter. 

With  a  sad  heart  she  started  home,  almost 
dreading  to  meet  her  mother,  to  whom  she  alone 
remained  of  the  once  happy  family,  but  when  she 
reached  Rest  Cottage,  her  mother  stood  on  the 
steps  waiting  for  her. 

She  did  not  weep;  instead,  like  the  "Saint 
Courageous"  she  had  come  to  be  called,  she  said, 
with  radiant  face,  "Praise  heaven  with  me;  I've 
grown  grav  praying  for  my  son,  and  now  to  think 
your  brother  Oliver  is  safe  with  God." 

After  Oliver's  death.  Miss  Willard  continued 
her  work  as  before,  for  although  she  grew  verv' 
lonesome  at  times,  Mrs.  Willard  declared  that  the 
great  temperance  reform  needed  her  daughter  more 


iH 


/IN   UNCROfVNED   y^UEEN 


than   she   hcrsclt   did,  and   for   the  cause  she   was 
williiij;  to  make  any  sacrifice. 

As  she  continued  her  labors,  Miss  Willard  grew 
in  favor,  and  for  several  years  before  she  finally 
gave  her  consent,  thousands  of  women  had  wished 
to  honor  her  by  electing  her  president  of  the 
National  Woman's  Christian  Temperance  Union, 
but  not  imtil  the  year  1879  clid  she  allow  her  name 
presented  to  the  convention. 

At  the  convention,  held  this  year  at  Indianapolis. 
Miss  Willard  was  elected  president  of  the  national 
organization,  thus  being  put  in  the  place  of  highest 
honor  by  the  most  devoted  woman's  club  ever 
organized. 


CHAPTER    XXI 


When  Miss  Willcird  L.\clianj;ccl  the  class-room 
in  a  uiuvcr.->it\'  for  the  wider  field  of  reform  work, 
she  found  man\-  new  lessons  to  learn,  and  many 
problems  of  tremendous  importance  pressing;  for 
solution;  and  she  very  soon  came  to  understand 
that  reforms  are  not  accomplished  sin^dy,  hut  that 
one  reform  leads  to  another,  antl  that  all  reforms 
intersect  and  intermingle,  so  that  one  to  be  truly  a 
reformer,  must,  with  the  skill  of  a  statesman,  study 
the  causes  and  effects  that  go  to  make  the  com- 
plexion of  society. 

Thus,  after  studying  the  woman  question  thor- 
oughly. Miss  Willard  found  herself  directly  in  toucii 
with  the  temperance  reform.  A  study  of  the  tem- 
perance reform  brought  her  in  close  touch  with 
certain  aspects  of  the  labor  (jucstion,  and  a  study 
of  all  these  brought  lier  immedi.-'ii  y  to  a  study  of 
politics,  for  which  she  had  a  born  liking. 

After  holding  for  several  years  the  opinion  that 
the  ballot,  as  a  home  protection  measure,  should  be 
granted  to  intelligent  women.  Miss  Willard  decided 
that  her  duty  la}'  in  declaring  this  belief  publicly. 
She  had  not  wished  to  do  so,  but  while  praying  one 

229 


2.10 


.IN    UXCKOirXED    ^'lUEEN 


niorniiif;,  ci  voic-c  sccnu'd  to  whisper,  "Vou  arc  to 
sjuak  tor  woman's  ballot  as  a  weapon  ot  protection 
to  her  home  and  tempted  loved  ones  from  the 
tyranny  of  drink." 

Actint;  on  the  sn^^cstion  that  had  come  so 
stranueiv  vet  so  clearly,  she  asked  permission  of 
the  lady  who  was  at  that  time  president  of  the 
National  Woman's  Christian  Temperance  Union  to 
deliver  an  address  on  "The  Home  Protection 
Ballot"  before  the  International  Convention  of 
Women,  soon  to  meet  in  Philadelphia. 

This  recjnest  was  kindly  but  firmly  refused. 

\t  a  subsetjuent  naetin^  of  the  National 
Woman's  Christian  Temperance  Union,  however, 
her  opp(~)rtunity  came. 

Knowin^^  her  intention  to  jiubliclv  declare  in 
favor  of  the  ballot  for  women,  a  number  of  her 
conservative  friends  be,uij;e(l  Miss  Willard  almost 
with  tears  in  their  eves  not  to  deliver  the  address. 

But  dutv  urged  her  forward  when  inclination 
would  have  held  her  b-ack.  and  the  address  was 
delivered,  meeting;  with  much  more  favor  trom  the 
audience  than  she  had  expected. 

At  Its  close,  h.owcver.  the  chairman  came  for- 
ward and  said,  "I  wish  it  clearly  understood  that 
the  speaker  represents  herself  and  not  the  Woman's 
Christian  Temperance  Union,  for  we  do  not  propose 


THE   REFORMER 


2.]  I 


to  trail  our  skirts  through  the  mire  ot  politics";  and 
after  the  meeting,  the  president  whispered  regret- 
fully to  her.  "you  might  have  been  a  leader,  but 
now  yc.u'll  only  be  a  scout." 

How  little  this  good  woman  knew  the  way  in 
which  God  intended  to  use  Frances  Willard,  who 
three  years  later  occupied  the  position  this  woman 
then  held. 

From  this  day  on,  Miss  Willard  used  her  con- 
stantly  increasing  influence  in   favor  of  the  ballot 
for  women  as  a  means  of  defense  for  the  protection 
of  the  home,  and  in  her  first  address  to  a  national 
convention  as  its  president,  she  said:   "Slowly  but 
surely  the   reflex  influence  of  this  mighty  reform, 
born    in   the  church   ar.cl   nurtured  at  the  crusade 
altars,  is  educating  women  to  the  level  of  two  most 
solemn   and  ominous   ideas:    1st,    T/iat  tlify  oiii^ht 
to  7vtc;   2d.    That  they  ought  to  vote  agnii/st  g-rog- 
sho/'S.      The  present  generation  will   not  pass  away 
until  in  many  of  the  states  this  shall  all  be  fulfilled, 
and  then  Anu,     a,  beloved  mother  of  thrice  grate- 
ful daughters,  thou  shalt  find  rallying  to  thy  defense, 
and   routing  the  grimy  hosts   that   reel   about   thee 
now,  an  amiy  of  voters  which  absenteeism  will  not 
decimate,  and  money  cannot   buy.      I'nder  the  in- 
fluence of  our  societies  may  be  safely  tried  the  great 
experiment   that  agitates  the   age,  and  wiucii   upon 


-.r 


.-IN    CXCNOllWF.n   }:IUEEN 


ihc  world's  arcn;i  iiujst  of  us  liavc  feared.  WIkii 
\vc  (ksire  this  home  jirotectio;!  wc-apoii.  American 

manhood  will  jilace  it   in  our  hands These 

benign  changes  will  not  come  suddenly,  but  as  the 
result  of  a  profound  chanj;e  in  the  convictions  of 
the  thouj;htful  and  conscientious  followed  by  such 
a  renKjUliiii;  of  public  sentiment  as  this  class  always 
brings  about  when  once  aroused." 

As  an  effect  of  the  influence  she  wielded  by  her 
masterful  arguments  and  womanly  gentleness,  Miss 
W'illard  rajiidlv  won  the  support  of  the  Woman's 
Christian  Temperance  I'nion,  so  that  as  a  national 
organization  it  declared  itself  in  favor  of  the  ballot 
for  women  at  the  Boston  convention. 

Another  prol)lem  of  far-reaching  importance 
Miss  Willard  found  in  the  "labor  (|uestion." 

With  the  sense  of  justice  ever  u|)pe'-most  in  her 
mind,  her  large  heart  w^iU  out  in  unbounded  sym- 
patln  to  the  wage  earner,  while  her  tine  faculty  of 
discrimination  kept  her  from  going  to  the  extreme 
of  an  indiscriminate  condemnation  of  all  men  who 
Were  not  wage  earners. 

As  an  outcome  of  a  suggestion  made  by  Miss 
Willard  at  the  Minneapolis  convention,  an  address 
was  issuctl  by  the  Wtjman's  Christian  Temperance 
I'nion  to  "  Vll  knights  of  lalior,  trades  unions,  and 
other  labor  organizations."     "'To  all  working  men 


rHI'.    REFORM  I.  R 


-^^ 


ap.d  women,  brothers  and  sisters  of  a  coninion 
iiope,"  it  read  in  part,  "we  come  to  voii  naturally 
as  to  our  friends  and  alli>  ..  With  sucli  of  your 
methods  as  involve  eo-ojX'ration.  arbitration,  and 
the  ballot-box,  we  are  in  heart)  symiiathy.  Meas- 
ures which  involve  compulsion  of  labor,  the 
destruction  of  property,  or  harm  to  life  or  limb,  we 
profoundly  deplore,  and  we  believe  the  thoughtful 
and  responsible  amon<;  your  ranks  must  ecjually 
deplore  them,  as  not  only  base  in  themselves,  but 
a  great  hindrance  to  \our  own  welfare  and  success. 
The  central  (juestion  of  labor  reform  is  not  so  much 
//('Ti'  /('  i.'(V  lii''fur  irtii'is,  as  how  /('  /ur/i  /■'tust  )it 
'i^'dgiS  til  Ih'tttr  iiiWiiiit.  For  waste  harms  most 
those  who  can  least  afford  it.  It  is  not  over-pro- 
duction so  much  as  iini{ir-io)isiniif>tion  that  grinds 
the  face  of  the  workingman.  Fourteen  hundred 
millions  annually  drawn,  chietlv  from  the  pockets 
of  workingmen.  by  saloon-keepers  and  cigar  deal- 
ers, means  less  flour  in  the  barrel,  less  coal  in  the 
cellar,  and  less  clothing  for  the  laborers'  families. 
We  grieve  to  see  them  give  their  money  for  that 
which  is  not  bread,  and  their  labor  for  that  which 

satisfieth  not We  ask  your  attention  to  our 

White  Cross  pledge  of  equal  chastity  for  man  and 
woman;  of  pure  language  and  a  pure  life.  We  ask 
\our  help  in  our  efforts  to  secure  adequate  protec- 


2.U      ./V    L^NCROirXED    ^n'REN 


tiuii  hy  law  for  the  (laiij4htfrs  ot  tlif  poor  and  rirli 
alike  from  the  cruultv  ot  base  and  brutal  men. 
....  We  ask  you  to  do  all  in  \our  power  for  the 
cause  of  jjrohibition,  which   is   j)re-eminently  jvv^r 

cause In  all  this,  \vc  speak  to  vou  as  those 

who  fer\entty  believe  that  the  coming;  of  Christ's 
kinj;dom  in  the  earth  means  brotJurliOiuL  \Vc 
urge  you  with  sisterly  earnestness  and  affection  to 
make  the  \ew  Testament  your  text-book  of  politi- 
cal economy,  and  to  join  us  in  the  daily  study  of 
llis  bles>ed  words,  who  spake  as  never  man  spake. 
His  pierced  hand  is  lifting  U[i  this  .sorrowful, 
benighted  world  into  the  light  of  (iod.  In  earnest 
sympathy  let  us  go  forward  to  work  out  Mis  golden 
precepts  into  the  world's  life  and  law  by  making 
first  of  all  His  law  and  life  our  own." 

This  letter,  which  bore  Miss  Willard's  signafu'c 
as  president  of  the  National  Woman's  Christian 
Temj)erance  Union,  was  sent  by  thousands  to  work- 
ingmen,  who  had  alreadv  come  to  know  her  as  one 
of  their  truest,  bravest  friends,  who  respected  her 
counsel  because  they  deemed  it  worthy  of  respect, 
and  who  listened  to  her  words  because  they  knew 
that  back  of  them  was  the  loving,  sympathetic 
heart  that  prompted  their  utterance. 

Another  branch  of  reform  work  that  appealed 
to    Miss   Willard   and    received   a   large    share  of 


Tllh.    KEIOKMEK 


2.H 


prcucitul   attention  was   that  twin  sin  of   iritcnipcr- 
ancc,  the  social  evil. 

In  her  own  delicate,  wonuiiily  way  she  plead  for 
a  grander  chivalry,  a  nol)k"r  manhood,  anil  a  purer 
womanhood. 

Before  the  International  Council  of  Women  she 
said,  in  course  of  an  address  on  Social  Purity: 
"Tliere  i>  nothing  nil  this  earth  th.it  I  tried  UKjre 
earnestly  to  instill  into  my  girls'  he.irts,  when  I 
was  teaching,  than  a  genuine  wumanl\  selt-respect. 
....  I  see  fair  women  in  beautiful  robes  walking 
on  the  streets,  or  hear  of  them  in  fine  social  sur- 
roundings, with  a  man  at  their  side  puffing  tobacm 
smoke  into  their  faces  and  eyes,  and  I  say  that  it 
is  a  survival  of  past  savagery  and  debasement,  and 
of  the  immolation  of  women.  If  there  is  anything 
on  earth  1  covet  that  pertains  to  men  it  is  their 
self-respect.  Xo  man  would  be  seen  with  a  woman 
with  the  faintest  taint  or  tinge  of  tobacco  about  her; 
no  man  would  allow  himself  to  enter  into  marriage 
with  a  woman  of  known  habits  of  drinking  or  im- 
jiuritv;  it  isn't  thinkable.  When  I  sec  women 
coming  out  before  men,  or  when  I  know  they  do— 
I  d)  not  see  them,  they  are  not  women  with  whom 
1  am  socially  acipiaintetl — revealing  the  sacredness 
oi  the  pure  symbol  and  badge  of  their  womanly 
nature,  commg  out  dressed  so  improperly  that  tiie 


236      .IN    UNCROIt'NED    <^^UEKIV 

joke,  the  jest,  and  jibe  are  uttered  in  the  dressing- 
room  where  young  men  smoke  cigars  and  hobnol) 
together,  I  could  weep  my  life  out  that  a  woman 
thus  appears,  borrowing  that  style  from  women, 
the  hem  of  whose  garments  she  would  be  ashamed 
to  touch.  Let  us  have  self-respect.  Let  us  be 
clothed  with  the   raiment  of  purity  that  ought  to 

guard  the  virgin,  the  mother,  and  the  wife 

The  superior,  queenly  woman  is  the-  one  who  has 
most  self-respect,  who  sees  its  application  to  every- 
thing around  her,  and  who  makes  every  man  feel 
that  he  would  as  soon  die  as  offer  her  an  insult." 

But  the  hardest  lesson  that  MissWillard  had  to 
learn  was  in  the  school  of  politics — that  great  school 
toward  which  all  reforms  tend,  inasmuch  as  under 
a  republican  form  of  government  all  reform  senti- 
ment must  center  in  the  ballot-box  before  it  can  be 
crystalized  into  law. 

In  studying  the  past  history  of  the  temperance 
^movement,  she  learned  that  fc-  almost  two  hundred 
years  before  she  became  interested  in  the  question, 
men  had  been  making  laws  for  the  purpose  of  con- 
trolling the  liquor  traflfic.  all  of  which  had  proved 
powerless  to  stop  it  in  its  destructive  career,  and 
some  of  which  she  regarded  as  pernicious  in  the 
extreme,  notably  the  different  forms  of  license  law. 

She  also  noted  that  other  hurtful  pursuits,  such 


THE  REFORMER 


2J7 


as  theft  and  murder,  were  prohibited  by  law.  and 
she  came  to  the  logical  conclusion  that  prohibitory 
law  should  be  extended  to  stop  men  from  engaging 
in  a  business  at  the  same  time  thievish  and  mur- 
derous in  its  effects  upon  society. 

Her  next  step  was  to  inquire  why  such  a  law 
had  not  been  put  into  effect,  inasmuch  as  sentiment 
everywhere  seemed  largely  against  the  liquor  traffic; 
and  here  she  found  to  her  sorrow  that  the  ballots 
cast  by  good  men  counted  for  the  political  measures 
declared  for  in  party  platforms,  rather  than  for  the 
men  who  represent  these  policies,  and  that  a  man  out 
of  office  was  one  man.  and  the  same  man  holding 
office  was  quite  another;  so  that  while  he  might,  in 
the  first  position,  advocate  the  prohibition  of  the 
liquor  traffic,  in  the  latter  he  indorsed,  as  a  voter 
and  politician,  the  attitude  of  the  party  with  which 
he  stood,  whatever  it  might  be. 

This  being  the  case,  a  resolution  was  passed 
by  the  National  Woman's  Christian  Temperance 
Union,  intended  to  urge  men  to  the  duty  of  bring- 
ing the  question  of  prohibition  into  politics,  and 
read,  "That  we  lend  our  influence  to  that  party, 
by  whatever  name  called,  which  shall  furnish  the 
best  embodiment  of  prohibition  principles,  and 
which  will  most  surely  protect  our  homes. ' ' 

For  the  nurpose  of  securing  recognition  of  pro- 


^rv-'.-^- 


tarn 


23 S      //,V    iNCROn^NED   ylUEhlN 


hibition  by  sonic  political  party,  Miss  Willard 
visited  four  different  political  parties  in  convention 
assembled,  to  each  of  which  she  presented  a 
womanly  appeal  prepared  by  the  Woman's  Chris- 
tian Temperance  Union. 

The  first  convention  visited  was  that  of  the 
"Greenback"  party,  held  in  Indianapolis.  Ap- 
plause greeted  the  petition  as  presented  by  Miss 
Willard.  As  individuals  the  men  composing  this 
party  favored  temperance,  but  as  a  political  party 
they  would  not. 

The  next  convention  visited  was  that  of  the 
Republican  party,  in  Chicago,  before  the  resolution 
coniniittee  of  which  Miss  Willard  was  granted 
fifteen  minutes  to  present  the  petition  of  the  organi- 
zation she  represented.  "Gentlemen,"  she  said, 
"the  temperance  women  of  America  have  never 
before  asked  for  one  moment  of  your  time.  Thou- 
sands of  them  have  worked  and  prayed  for  your 
success  in  the  heroic  days  gone  by,  but  up  to  this 
time  they  have  laid  no  tax  on  the  attention  of  the 
people's  representatives  in  presidential  convention 

assembled I    am     here   in     no    individual 

character,  but  as  a  delegated  representative  of  the 
Woman's  Christian  Temperance  Union  of  forty- 
eight  states  and  territories,  including  the  District 
of  Colum])ia,  to  present  to  you  tlic  mcniorial  of  tiie 


THE  REFORMER 


2.K> 


American  home  a^^'li^st  tlu'  American  saloon. 
You  will  notice  that  \vc  make  no  note  of  foreij;n 
(Irinkinj;  customs,  but  speak  and  work  directly 
against   an   institution  which   derives   its  authority 

directly   from    our   own    government \Vc 

know  that  in  America  the  great  clanging  mill  of 
government,  kept  in  motion  at  enormous  cost, 
turns  out  just  one  product,  and  that  is  protection 
for  'ife  and  limb  and  property.  But  it  seems  to  us 
women  that  the  citadel  of  purity,  the  palladium  of 
liberty,  the  home,  our  brothers  hav^  lorgotten 
adequately  to  protect.  Therefore,  I  am  here  to- 
day to  speak  on  behalf  of  millions  of  women,  good 
and  true,  but  grieved  and  sorrowful;  to  ask  that 
the  guarantees  nd  safeguards  of  law  shall  be 
stripped  from  the  saloons  of  my  country;  that  their 
tarnished  gold  shall  no  more  pollute  our  treasury'; 
and  that  the  land  wc  love  may  at  once  and  forever 
go  out  of  partnership  with  the  li(|uor  traffic. 
Gentlemen,  some  political  party  will  respond  to 
this  plea  from  the  hearts  of  women  asking  for  pro- 
tection from  a  stimulant  which  nerves  with  danger- 
ous strength  the  manly  arm  that  God  meant  to  be 
a  woman's  shelter  and  protection,  so  that  man's 
cruelty  becomes  greatest  toward  those  he  loves  the 
best.  Some  party  will  declare  that  when  our  best 
beloved  go  forth  into  life's  battle  thev  shall  not 


240     .'IN   UNCROIVNED   .^OUEKN 


have  to  take  chances  so  unequal  in  the  figlit  for  a 
clear  brain,  nor  run  the  gauntlet  of  saloons  legal- 
ized and  set  along  our  streets As  womanly, 

as  considerate,    as  gentle    as  the    women  of  the 
Woman's  Christian  Temperance  Union,  from  Ala- 
bama to  Wyoming,  would  wish  me  to  be  in  this 
presence  I  have  tried    to  be,  that   I   might  justly 
represent  them — good-natured  as  sunshine,  stead- 
fast as  gravitation,  persistent  as  a  Christian's  faith. 
I  have  no  harsh  word  to  speak  of  any.     The  liquor 
traffic  is  the  awful  heritage  of  a  less  wise,  less  kind, 
and  less  enlightened  past.      For  its  existence  in  this 
gentler  age  we  are  all  more  or  less  responsible. 
Let  us  combine  to  put  it  away,  'with  malice  toward 
none,  with  charity  for  all. '   .   .    .   .    De  Tocqueville 
said,  'Life  is  neither  a  pleasure  nor  a  pain;   it  is  a 
serious  business,  to  be  entered  on  with  courage, 
and  in  a  spirit  of  self-sacrifice.'     Gentlemen,   in 
that  spirit   I   have  tried  to  speak,   not  because   I 
wished  to  be  heard,   but   to   represent  as  best   I 
could,  the  homes  of  America  in  their  sacred  war- 
fare against  the  American  saloon.      May  God  lead 
and  guide  us  all  into  lives  and  deeds  of  tenderest 
charity  and  divincst  toil  for  the  sorrowful  and  weak. 
....   We  ask  you  to  declare  in  favor  of  submit- 
ting to  the  people  a  national  constitutional  amend- 
ment for  the  prohibition  (jf  the  liquor  traffic." 


^.«^' 


THE  REFORMER 


241 


This  address  was  listened  to  with  respect,  for 
here,  as  in  the  first  convention,  were  many  noble 
men  who  believed  personally  in  prohibition,  but  as 
a  political  party  they  could  not  commit  themselves 
to  such  a  policy. 

Next  in  turn  came  the  Democratic  convention, 
where  Miss  Willard  was  also  treated  with  much 
respect  by  many  good  men  who  believed  the  liquor 
traffic  a  curse  to  the  nation,  but  who  would  not  as 
politicians  oppose  it. 

There  remained  yet  another  political  convention, 
held  by  the  Prohibition  party  in  Pittsburg,  toward 
which  Miss  Willard  went,  presenting  the  memorial 
prepared  by  the  Woman's  Christian  Temperance 
Union. 

No  sooner  had  the  last  syllable  of  her  short 
address  left  her  lips  than  the  convention  broke  into 
ringing  cheers,  for  the  men  and  women  gathered 
here  had  assembled  for  the  definite  purpose  of 
putting  an  end,  by  law,  to  the  liquor  traffic. 

Having  found  at  last  the  one  political  party  that 
declared  in  its  platform  for  the  prohibition  of  the 
liquor  traffic,  the  National  Woman's  Christian 
Temperance  Union,  at  its  next  convention,  adopted 
the  following  resolution: 

"We  refer  to  the  history  of  ten  years  of  persistent  mnrrjl 
suasion  as  full  establishing  our  claim  to  be  called  a  non-politi- 


242      AN    UNCROIVNED   ^UEEN 

cal  society,  but  one  which  steadfastly  follows  the  white  banner 
of  prohibition  wherever  it  may  be  displayed.  W^e  have,  how- 
ever, as  individuals,  always  allied  ourselves  in  local  and  state 
political  contests  with  those  voters  whose  efforts  and  Ijullots 
hav£  been  given  to  the  removal  of  the  dramshop  and  its 
attendant  evils,  and  at  this  time,  while  recognizing  that  our 
action  as  a  national  society  is  not  binding  upon  states  or  indi- 
viduals, we  reaffirm  the  position  taken  by  the  society  at  Louis- 
ville in  1882,  and  at  Detroit  in  1883,  pledging  our  influence  to 
that  party,  by  whatever  name  called,  which  shall  furnish  us  the 
best  embodiment  of  prohibition  principles,  and  will  most  surely 
protect  out[homcs.  And  as  we  now  know  which  national  party 
gives  us  the  desired  embodiment  of  the  principles  for  which 
our  ten  years'  labor  has  been  expended,  we  will  continue  to 
lend  our  influence  to  the  national  political  organization  which 
declares  in  its  platform  for  national  prohibition  and  home  pro- 
tection. In  this,  as  in  all  progressive  efforts,  we  will  endeavor 
to  meet  argument  with  argument,  misjudgment  with  patience, 
denunciation  with  kindness,  and  all  our  difficulties  and  dangers 
with  prayer." 

This  last  sentence  was  Miss  Willard's,  and  it 
was  only  by  keeping  as  closely  as  possible  to  its 
advice  that  peace  and  harmony  were  made  to  reign 
where  strife  would  otherwise  have  been  inevitable, 
for  the  wisdom  of  thus  indorsing  a  political  party 
was  called  in  question  by  some  of  the  most  influen- 
tial members  of  the  organization,  and  the  resolution 
was  voted  upon  again  at  subsequent  conventions. 

The  national  society,  as  a  whole,  was,  however, 
unwilling  to  remain  upon  equal  terms  of  friendship 
with  three  political  parties,  one  of  which  ignored, 
one  of  which  denounced,  and  one  of  which  cham- 


THE  REFORMER 


24.^ 


pioned  the  cause  for  which  they  labored,  and  after 
much  discussion  the  resolution  by  an  overwhelming 
majority  was  let  to  stand. 

As  a  result  of  this  final  decision,  a  few  of  the 
good  women  who  thought  the  action  unwise  with- 
drew from  the  organization;  and  of  MissWillard,  as 
leader  of  the  organization,  some  unkind  words  were 
said  by  those  who  failed  to  understand  the  motives 
shaping  h(  -  actions.  But  through  it  all,  with  abun- 
dantly satisfying  results,  she  acted  on  the  advice 
frequently  given  her  by  her  mother  in  childhood 
days:  "Hath  any  wronged  thee.'  Be  bravely 
avenged:  Slight  it,  and  the  work's  begun;  for- 
get it,  and  'tis  finished." 


CHAPTER  XXII 


When  Miss  Willard  had  been  a  romping  girl, 
and  the  desire  of  her  heart  had  been  to  ride  a  for- 
bidden horse,  she  had  trained  a  cow  for  the  pur- 
pose, and  gained  her  end. 

When  a  young  lady,  traveling  in  Europe,  she 
determined  to  climb  St.  Paul's  Cathedral  spire 
and  the  Alps,  she  had  climbed  them,  being  gener- 
ally the  first  of  the  party  to  reach  the  top. 

When  she,  as  president  of  the  Woman's  Chris- 
tian Temperance  Union,  made  up  her  mind  that 
she  would  start  on  a  lecture  tour  that  should  not 
end  until  she  had  spoken  in  every  town  in  the 
United  States  having  ten  thousand  inhabitants,  and 
many  smaller  places,  those  who  knew  her  knew 
that  the  undertaking,  though  a  great  one,  would  be 
carried  out. 

So  it  happened  that  in  one  year  Miss  Willard 
traveled  thirty  thousand  miles,  speaking  in  every 
state  capital,  except  those  of  Idaho  and  Arizona, 
and  organizing  hundreds  of  local  Woman's  Chris- 
tian Temperance  Unions. 

In  all  her  journeying  she  traveled  hundreds  of 
thousands  of  miles,  for  twelve  years  averaging  a 

244 


!»yvpi"»»*»w»i 


THE  REFORMER 


245 


meeting  each  day  and  working  on  tlie  cars  as  she 
went  from  place  to  place;  for  beside  attending  to 
the  immense  amount  of  correspondence  that  her 
position  made  necessary,  she  wrote  a  number  of 
books  and  contributed  to  many  magazines  and 
papers,  in  all  this  striving  to  accomplish  her  sister 
Mary's  wish,  who  had  asked  her  as  a  parting  mes- 
sage to  "tell  everybody  to  be  good." 

In  these  days  of  wearisome  travel  and  arduous 
toil,  she  was  accompanied  and  assisted  by  her 
devoted  private  secretary,  Miss  Anna  Gordon. 
Beside  her  mother,  none  of  her  many  dear  friends 
held  so  tender  a  pla«.e  in  Miss  Willard's  affections 
as  this  young  woman,  whom  Miss  Willard  first  saw 
in  a  great  Eastern  meeting,  when  in  answer  to  an 
appeal  for  an  organist,  a  sweet-faced,  timid  young 
girl  came  bravely  to  the  front.  Besides  being  an 
invaluable  private  secretary,  her  thoughtfulness 
and  patience  and  sympathy  as  a  friend  made  her 
indeed  what  she  came  to  be  called  by  Miss  Willard, 
her  "Heart's  Ease." 

Among  the  rare  gifts  too  seldom  possessed  by 
the  reformer,  the  happy  faculty  of  being  a  peace- 
maker belonged  to  Miss  Willard;  and  it  was  no 
small  service  she  rendered  society  when  she  suc- 
ceeded in  uniting  the  hearts  of  Northern  and  South- 
ern women  in  a  common  cause.     The  fair  land  that 


I1 


246      AN   UNCROWNED   SiUERN 


V 


had  been  devastated  by  war  and  sowed  to  buliets, 
had  not  yet  recovered  itself  from  the  ashes  of  its 
desolation,  nor  had  the  hearts  of  its  brave  people 
yet  been  freed  from  the  prejudices  and  passions 
caused  by  strife,  when  Miss  Willard  made  a  tour 
of  the  Southland,  lecturing  in  its  cities,  acquainting 
herself  with  its  people,  and  organizing  its  women  in 
defense  of  a  common  enemy. 

Won  by  the  chivalr  of  its  men  and  the  noble 
womanhood  of  its  women.  Miss  Willard  gave  her 
best  efforts  and  warmest  sympathy  to  the  people  of 
the  South,  who  in  turn  loved  her  for  what  she  was. 
After  hearing  her   lecture,  one  Southern  lady 
said:  "The  first  time  I  heard  her,  I  lay  awake  all 
night  for  sheer  gladness.      It  was  such  a  wonderful 
revelation  to  me  that  a  woman  like  Miss  Willard 
could  e.xist.      I  thanked  God.  and  took  courage  for 
humanity."     Another  said:   "It  was  the  first  ray 
of  hope  that  had  come  into  our  lives  since  the  war. 
We  had  been  sitting  crushed  amid  the  wreckage  of 
our  past,  and  it  seemed  as  if  there  were  no  future 
for  us:  but  Miss  Willard  came  and  held  out  to  us 
her  little  white  hand,  and  its  grasp  gave  us  new 
heart  and  new  hope." 

So  greatly  was  she  honored  in  the  South  that 
the  simple  announcement  that  she  would  lecture 
filled  the  largest  ope  ra  houses  and  churches  with 


w* ' 


THE  REFORMER 


247 


people  caj;cr  to  hear  the  wonderful  messages 
in  which  she  declared  her  belief  in  the  doctrine. 
"No  sectarianism  in  reli^Mon,  no  sectionalism  in 
politics,  no  sex  in  citizenship."  and  which  she  ex- 
pressed in  the  purest  langua<;e  and  loftiest  strain. 
as  when  she  said:  "The  deepest  billows  are  away 
out  at  sea;  they  never  come  in  slight  of  shore. 
These  waves  are  like  the  years  of  God.  Upon  the 
shore  line  of  our  earthly  life  come  the  waves  of  the 
swift  years;  they  bound  and  break,  and  are  no 
more.  But  far  out  upon  eternity's  bosom  are  the 
great,  wide,  endless  waves  that  make  the  years  of 
God;  they  never  strike  upon  the  shores  of  time. 
In  all  the  flurry  and  the  foam  about  us,  let  us  bend 
our  heads  to  listen  to  the  great  anthem  of  that  far- 
off  sea,  for  our  life  l^arks  shall  soon  be  cradled 
there;  we  are  but  building  here,  the  launch  is  not 
far  off;  and  then  the  boundless  ocean  of  the  years 
of  God." 

So  widely  known  had  Miss  Willard  become  after 
several  years  of  public  life,  that  her  reputation  as 
a  lecturer  and  temperance  reformer  liad  penetrated 
the  farthest  and  most  (juiet  places,  as  she  found 
when  on  one  occasion  she  visited  a  little  village  far 
removed  from  the  railroad,  for  the  purpose  of  rest- 
ing a  short  time  and  doing  some  important  writing. 

As  she  was  sitting  on  the  porch  the  evening  of 


2^8      ///V   UNCROfVNED   ^^UEEN 


her  arrival,  a  boy  who  had  been  kaninp  against  a 

post    looking   at    her    for    some    moments,    said: 

"Don't  you  make  speeches  sometimes?" 

"Yes.  my  lad."  she  answered,  "but   1   came 

up  here  to  get  away  from  seeing  people. ' ' 

"But  I  think  you  ought  to  .,,..ak.  "  he  answered. 

"Don't  you  see  how  many  orchards  are  up  here; 

a  good  deal  of  cider  is  made,  and  people  who  drink 

it  get  very  cross." 

Wondering  if  the  boy  really  wanted  her  to 
deliver  an  address  on  temperance.  Miss  Willard 
said:  "Wouldn't  you  rather  have  me  make  a  speech 
about  the  Pyramids.'  I  climbed  the  tallest  of  them 
all.  named  Cheops,  nearly  five  hundred  feet  high. 
On  top  of  it  I  gathered  some  bits  of  mortar,  older 
than  Abraham,  and  I  have  pictures  and  diagrams 
with  which  I  can  illustrate  my  lecture." 

The  boy's  eyes  danced  with  pleasure'  at  the  sug- 
gestion of  this  treat,  but  he  insisted  that  the  people 
of  his  neighborhood  needed  to  hear  a  good  temper- 
ance speech,  and  when  Miss  Willarrl  agreed  to 
make  it.  he  started  out  over  hills  and  through  val- 
leys announcing  the  fact  that  Miss  Frances  Willard 
would  make  a  speech  the  next  Sunday  in  the  old 
church. 

Long  before  the  time,  an  audience  began  to 
gather,  coming  from  ever\-  direction  in  hay  wagons, 


THE  REFORMER 


249 


carts,  carriages,  and  on  f(X)t,  until  the  church  was 
full. 

The  Woman's  Christian  Temperance  Union  had 
now  come  to  be  known  in  every  state  in  the  union. 
Everywhere  women  wore  their  little  white  hows. 
Somewhere  women  stopped  just  a  moment  at  noon- 
tide to  offer  a  brief  petition  to  the  God  of  eternal 
justice  in  behalf  of  their  great  work  of  protecting 
their  homes  and  making  the  world  a  better,  safer 
place  for  their  children.  In  addition  to  the  tem- 
perance work,  which  was  the  mission  that  gave 
birth  to  the  organization,  other  departments  had 
been  added,  comprising  all  the  varied  branches  of 
reform  work;  and  in  order  to  more  successfully 
carry  on  a  work  that  had  assumed  tremendous  pro- 
portions, a  publishing  house  had  been  found  to  be 
nccessar)',  from  which  millions  of  pages  of  literature 
were  sent  out,  and  which  issued  as  official  organ 
of  the  Woman's  Christian  Temperance  Union,  a 
first-class  paper. 

When  the  Woman's  Christian  Temperance 
Union  in  every  portion  of  the  United  States  was 
helping  women  by  teaching  them  to  help  them- 
selves, Miss  Willard  often  thought  of  the  women 
in  European  countries,  whose  condition  had  so 
pained  her  on  her  memorable  trip  abroad,  and  she 
wished  that  she  might  help  them  also. 


2  50     AN   UNCROIVNED   ^UEEN 

The  more  she  considered  the  matter,  the  greater 
her  desire  to  help  these  unfortunate  peoples  became, 
and  she  began  to  devise  a  plan  for  their  help,  which 
finally  resulted  in  the  organization  of  the  World's 
Woman's  Christian  Temperance  Union,  the  motto 
of  which  was  "For  God  and  Home  and  Every 
Land,"  and  a  noble  woman  was  sent  around  the 
world  to  form  Woman's  Christian  Temperance 
Unions  in  everv  land. 

Of  this  world-wide  organization  Miss  Frances 
Willard  was  elected  president;  and  as  such,  her 
stage  of  action  enlarged  from  that  of  one  to  that  of 
many  nations,  and  wherever  her  name  became 
known  it  stood  for  everything  pure  and  uplifting. 
A  few  more  invitations  to  lecture  in  behalf  of 
her  chosen  mission  were  poured  in  upon  her;  a 
few  more  babies  were  named  "Frances  Willard"; 
and  a  few  more  letters  came  from  people  in  all 
parts  of  the  country  who  thought  that  as  president 
of  the  World's  Woman's  Christian  Temperance 
Union,  there  could  be  no  favor  Miss  Willard  might 
not  grant. 

Tiresome  in  general,  some  of  these  letters  were 
amusing.  One  young  minister,  considering  her 
judgment  infallible,  requested  her  to  select  a  nice 
young  laJy  for  him  to  marry.  A  woman  in  Colo- 
rado requested   Miss  Willard  to  send  her  a  good 


THE  REFORMER 


251 


hired  girl.  Another  woman  offered  her  twenty- 
five  dollars  to  get  her  husband  a  position  as  post- 
master. Still  another  woman  wrote  to  advise  Miss 
Willard  that  the  writer  was  a  good  prohibitionist, 
modestly  asking  in  the  next  line  that  a  new  dress 
be  sent  her.  Another  sent  two  bills  to  be  paid, 
asking  the  president  of  the  World's  Woman's 
Christian  Temperance  Union  to  pray  over  the  mat- 
ter and  then  pay  the  bills.  And  one  woman  came  all 
the  way  from  Washington  to  Evanston  for  the  pur- 
pose of  having  Miss  Willard,  by  some  supposed 
mysterious  power,  make  of  her  a  second  temper- 
ance lecturer  equal  to  herself. 

Sometime  ;  the  piles  of  letters  she  found  a  few 
from  persons  with  whom  she  was  acquainted. 
Once  she  found  this  letter: 

"Dear  Miss.  — it  is  a  long  time  since  I  seen  you,  and  you 
will  be  glad  to  hear  that  I  am  now  a  farmer  meself  and  not 
working  out.  I  have  three  sons,  one  studying  at  the  Wiscon- 
sin University,  another  at  a  Catholic  school  in  Milwaukee,  and 
a  third  is  minded  to  be  a  lawyer.  We  are  all  Democrats,  but 
I  have  read  in  the  papers  that  St.  John  and  Daniel  were  your 
candidates,  and  I  said  to  my  boys,  'That  lady  and  her  folks 
was  good  to  me  when  I  was  a  lonesome  broth  of  a  boy  just 
over  from  the  Old  Country,  and  now  the  lady  hasn't  a  vote  to 
bless  herself  with,  but  we  can  put  in  four,  and  let  'em  all  count 
on  her  side,'  so  I  and  me  boys  went  to  the  polls  and  did  just 
that  and  I  thought  I'd  write  and  tell  ye. 

With  respect, 

Mike  Carey. 

This  letter  pleased  Miss  Willard,  bringing  up 


252     AN   UNCROWNED   ^UEEN 


happy  scenes  of  her  childhood  as  well  ?.s  bearing 
evidence  of  the  respect  in  which  she  was  held  by 
an  old  servant,  for  this  Mike  was  the  hired  man 
who  had  carried  her  first  composition  to  a  Janes- 
ville  newspaper,  and  had  helped  her  rejoice  when 
she  had  received  her  first  prize. 

During  the  years  that  had  passed  since  then, 
the  little  romping,  daring  Frances  had  changed  into 
a  peerless  woman. 

Queens  are  sometimes  distinguished  from  those 
of  the  common  rank  by  the  jeweled  crowns  they 
wear.  Other  queens  there  are  whose  brows  never 
felt  the  pressure  of  a  diadem,  but  whose  sure  right 
to  the  title  inheres  in  the  truest,  bluest  blood  of 
noble  womanhood,  than  which  there  can  be  no 
better. 

Such  a  queen  was  Frances  Willard,  by  nature 
and  by  grace,  and  she  needed  no  coronet  of  glitter- 
ing diamonds,  no  herald  with  shouting  trumpet  to 
proclaim  that  she  was  in  fact  what  she  had  come 
to  be  called,  "An  uncrowned  queen." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 


Thirty  years  had  now  passed  since  Mary  Willard 
had,  on  a  fair  June  morning,  left  her  home  beside 
the  blue  waters  of  Lake  Michigan  for  her  eternal 
home  beside  the  River  of  Life,  when  on  the  anniver- 
sary of  her  eternal  birthday,  her  mother  and  Miss 
Willard,  with  Miss  Gordon  and  a  few  other  friends, 
visited  the  house  that  had  at  that  time  been  the 
home  of  the  Willard  family,  wandering  through  the 
sitting-room  where  Mary's  last  days  had  been 
spent,  looking  into  the  little  bedroom  where  the 
two  sisters  had  spent  so  many  peaceful,  happy 
hours  together,  and  standing  silently  in  the  room 
f.om  which  her  soul  had  taken  its  departure. 

This  was  the  last  visit  Mrs.  Willard  made  away 
from  Rest  Cottage. 

The  sunshine  of  eighty  summers  had  left  its 
warmth  and  glow  in  her  soul,  but  the  frost  of 
eighty  winters  rested  on  her  brow,  and  the  sunset 
of  her  life  drew  near. 

"Death  is  but  another  birth,"  she  said  to  Miss 
Willard,  "and  I  am  about  to  be  born  into  a  bettei 
world. ' ' 

Astonished  by  her  words,  Miss  Willard  replied, 

253 


254     y^N   UNCROIVNED  ^UEEN 

"Mother  dear,  you  cannot  know— none  of  us  can 
know— when  God  is  coming  for  us,  and  I  can't 
bear  to  have  you  be  so  sure  about  it. ' ' 

"I  know  what  I  am  saying,  and  you  will  see 
that  it  will  all  come  true."  she  replied,  and  so  con- 
vinced was  she  that  she  was  soon  to  leave  the  scenes 
of  her  earthly  life,  that  she  said  to  Miss  Gordon, 
"How  well  it  is  that  I  am  the  one  who  is  going, 
and  not  Frank,  for  if  she  were  to  go  before  me.  all 
the  light  in  this  world  would  have  died  out.  but  as 
it  is  I  leave  the  world  while  it  is  radiant  with  light 
to  go  to  one  still  brighter. ' ' 

"But  Rest  Cottage  won't  seem  like  home  with- 
out you,  beloved,"  Miss  Gordon  said. 

"I  have  talked  it  all  over  with  Frank,"  Mrs. 
Willard  continued,  "and  there  are  enough  resources 
left  to  make  Rest  Cottage  a  joyous  place.  When 
I  go  I  do  not  take  all  the  resources  with  me,  and  I 
shall  be  often  here. ' ' 

In  a  cheerful  way,  as  if  she  were  preparing  for 
a  pleasure  trip,  she  talked  of  the  approaching  jour- 
ney to  an  unknown  world,  requesting  that  when  she 
had  gone  no  crape  be  hung  on  the  door,  but  instead 
an  evergreen  wreaii  tied  with  white  ribbon;  and 
that  no  black  veils  and  robes  be  worn  by  her  friends. 
During  her  last  days  nothing  gave  her  more 
pleasure  than  to  have  the  dear  friends  around  her 


THE  REFORMER 


255 


bedside  sing  the  songs  she  loved  best.  Very  softly 
they  sang,  "Gently,  Lord,  Oh  Gently  Lead  Us," 
and  "Lead,  Kindly  Light,"  which  was  one  of  her 
favorites. 

Once  while  singing  the  latter  song,  she  repeated 
between  the  verses  the  words: 

"O'er  moor  and  fen,  o'er  crag  and  torrent  till 
The  night  is  gone," 

and  those  around  her  bedside  realized  that  the  night 

was  indeed  for  her  almost  gone. 

The  last  verses  sung  to  her  as  she  breathed  her 

life  softly  away,  were: 

"God  be  with  you  till  we  meet  again, 
Keep  love's  banner  floating  o'er  you, 
Smite  death's  threatening  wave  before  you, 
God  be  with  you  till  we  meet  again." 

Soothed  into  a  last  sweet  slumber  by  the  song, 
Mrs.  Willard  rested  calmly,  breathing  softly  until 
the  midnight  of  a  summer  day,  when  her  soul  passed 
peacefully  into  the  beyond,  and  Frances  Willard 
was  left  motherless,  and  the  last  one  of  the  once 
happy  family. 

The  full  sense  of  her  loss  almost  crushed  the 
brave  heart  of  Miss  Willard,  and  yet  she  would 
have  said,  could  she  have  spoken  to  her  mother 
now,  ' '  I  give  thee  joy,  my  mother!  All  hail,  but  not 
farewell.  Our  faces  are  set  the  same  way.  blessed 
mother.     I  shall  follow  after;  it  will  not  be  long." 


256     AN   UNCROWNED  ^UEEN 


But  if  she  found  herself  the  only  surviving  mem- 
ber of  her  family,  Miss  Willard  was  not  without  the 
most  devoted  friends  a  woman  ever  had. 

One   among    the   number    Mrs.    Willard    had 
spoken  of  many  times  shortly  before  her  death.    She 
said:  "I  should  not  now  be  content  except  I  know 
that  she  will  not  only  give  you  the  strength  that  I 
could  not  at  my  age,  but  she  will  also  give  you  the 
love  and  sympathy  without  which  you  could  not 
live,  and  which  you  have  always  had  from  me. 
It  would  be  almost  unbearable  to  leave  you  if  this 
were  not  the  case.     The  problem  was  upon  us;  in 
a  few  years  I  had  to  go,  or  you;  one  must  be  left 
alone.     I  could  not  bear  to  think  of  that;  I  could 
not  endure  to  remain  in  the  world  after  you  had 
left  it,  but  now  that  will  not  be,  nor  will  you  be  so 
grievously  alone  as  I  had  feared.     I  never  think  of 
you  and  Anna  (Miss  Gordon)  as  separate;  I  expect 
you  always  to  go  on  together,   just  as  you  have 
been  doing  so  long.     But  to  breast  the  waves  of 
this  great  reform,  who  can  so  well  keep  step  with 
you  as  Lady  Henry,  for  you  are  in  perfect  harmony 
of  head,  heart,  hand,  motive,  enthusiasm,  and  life. 
You  could  not  have  planned  for  this  to  be  so  if  you 
had  tried  a  thousand  years.     God  had  it  to  do  and 
he  did  it. ' ' 

The  friend  whom  Mrs.  Willard  thus  confidently 


THE   REFORMER 


257 


expected  would  fill  in  large  measure  the  vacant 
place  made  in  her  daughter's  life  by  her  going 
away  was  a  large-hearted  English  noblewoman- 
Lady  Henry  Somerset. 

The  friendship  that  existed  between  America's 
uncrowned  queen  and  this  titled  Englishwoman  had 
come  about  in  a  way  that  seemed  divinely  appointed. 

Some  years  before,  on  a  rainy  Sunday,  Lady 
Henry  Somerset  had  found  in  her  housekeeper's 
room  a  small  blue  book  bearing  the  title  "Nine- 
teen Beautiful  Years, ' '  which  she  read  with  much 
pleasure. 

Until  this  time  the  name  "Frances  Willard" 
had,  as  she  expressed  it,  been  but  a  "vague  out- 
line" in  her  mind,  but  from  this  day  she  felt  the 
"spell  of  the  personality"  of  the  young  author  and 
wished  to  make  her  acquaintance. 

Some  time  after  this.  Lady  Henr>',  who  was 
much  interested  in  temperance  work,  and  who  was 
eminently  fitted  for  the  position,  was  persuaded  to 
accept  the  office  of  president  of  the  British  Woman's 
Temperance  Association.  From  the  hour  of  her 
election  to  this  office,  the  desire  of  these  two  lead- 
ers of  reform  work  to  meet  each  other  constantly 
increased,  and  the  pleasure  of  the  meeting  took 
place  at  the  first  world's  convention  held  by  the 
Women's  Christian  Temperance  Union, 


;5«      ./iV    UNCROIVNED   ^UEEN 


I.  I 


Alter  tliis  convention  Lady  Henry  accompanied 
Miss  Willard  to  Rest  Cottage,  where  she  completely 
won  the  heart  of  Mrs.  Willard,  who  in  time  be- 
came strongly  attached  to  her,  saying  "My  English 
daughter  has  lighted  up  the  whole  world  for  me  in 
her  affection  for  my  daughter. ' ' 

It  was  this  friend  to  whom  Miss  Willard  turned 
for  comfort  when  the  dearest  and  most  intimate 
of  her  life's  companionships  had  been  forever 
broken. 

Eastnor  Castle,  with  its  wealth  of  art  treasures, 
its  elegance  and  comfort,  was  for  a  time  her  home, 
where  the  sympathy  and  thoughtfulness  of  a  loving 
friend  helped  sustain  her  in  the  most  crushing  sor- 
row of  her  life. 

On  her  birthday,  which  occurred  shortly  after 
her  arrival  in  England,  an  offering  of  flowers  was 
received  by  Miss  Willard  with  a  note  of  remem- 
brance, which  showed  that  Lady  Henry  was  not 
alone  in  her  love  and  sympathy. 

"To  Frances  E.  Willard,  President  of  the 
World's  Woman's  Christian  Temperance  L^nion," 
it  began:  "Beloved  President,  the  sadness  that 
enshrouds  your  coming  to  our  country  forbids  any 
demonstration  of  national  welcome;  yours  is  a  loss 
in  which  each  of  us  have  a  share;  with  ynu  we 
mourn  a  mother  who,  by  a  long  life  of  courage  and 


THE   REFORMER 


259 


triumphant  entry  into  eternity,  has  taught  us  that 
it  is  'always  better  farther  on.'   .   .   .    ." 

A  few  months  later,  however,  after  Miss 
Willard  had  somewhat  recovered  from  the  first 
shock  of  her  great  grief,  she  addressed  the  people 
of  England  at  a  great  meeting  at  Exeter  Hall, 
London,  planned  as  a  welcome  to  the  founder  and 
president  of  the  World's  Woman's  Christian  Tem- 
perance Union. 

The  night  on  which  she  was  to  speak,  the  great 
hall  was  crowded  with  an  eager  audience  of  five 
thousand  people,  while  hundreds  who  could  find  no 
room  surged  back  and  forth  about  the  entrance. 

On  the  platform  sat  members  of  Parliament, 
leaders  in  the  labor  movement,  and  of  the  Salva- 
tion Army,  delegations  from  religious  denomina- 
tions, and  philanthropic  organizations,  assembled 
to  do  honor  to  Frances  E.  Willard. 

Before  she  arose  to  address  the  multitude,  Miss 
Willard  was  welcomed  to  England  by  twenty  differ- 
ent famous  speakers,  and  when  she  finally  came  to 
the  front,  she  was  given  such  an  ovation  as  few 
men  and  fewer  women  are  ever  honored  by,  the 
platform  and  audience  rising  and  waving  what 
appeared  to  be  a  sea  of  white  handkerchiefs,  mean- 
time giving  three  such  British  cheers  as  rang  for 
many  a  block  over  the  streets  of  noisy  London. 


i6o     AN    UNCK O IV NED   .^UEEN 


I  i 


Then  the  thousands  Hstened  for  the  first  tones 
of  her  voice,  wondering  how  such  a  delicately 
wrought  piece  of  humanity  could  make  herself 
heard  by  such  an  audience. 

But  although  they  marveled,  she  did  it  without 
an  apparent  effort,  her  voice  reaching  out  over  the 
multitude  clear  as  a  silver  bell  persuasive  with  a 
woman's  tenderness,  and  convincing  with  a  states- 
man's logic. 

After  this  first  great  meeting,  her  lecture  tour 
of  England  was  one  triumphal  procession;  crowded 
houses  greeted  her  wherever  she  stopped;  digni- 
taries paid  her  honor;  newspapers  showed  her  cour- 
tesy; while  the  cause  she  loved,  and  for  which  she 
was  spending  her  waning  strength,  grew  propor- 
tionately. 

But  the  wounds  in  her  heart  had  not  healed,  and 
after  the  tumult  and  applause  and  victory  of  her 
public  meetings,  quiet  times  of  longing  for  the  dear 
ones  that  had  passed  for  the  time  beyond  her  sight 
came  to  her,  proving  the  faith  which  had  been 
their  steadfast  hope,  and  of  which  she  had  before 
said,  "Indeed,  it  is  the  ofi/j'  life,  and  all  my  being 
sets  toward  it  as  the  rivers  toward  the  sea.  Celes- 
tial things  grow  dearer  to  me;  the  love  of  God  is 
steadfast  in  my  soul;  the  habitudes  of  a  disciple 
sit  more  easily  upon  me;  tenderness  toward  human- 


-*-^* 


THE   REFORMER 


261 


ity  and  the  lower  orders  of  being  inc  reases  with  the 
years.  In  the  temperance,  labor  and  woman 
questions  I  see  the  stirring  of  Christ's  heart;  in 
the  comradeship  of  Christian  work  my  spirit  takes 
delight,  and  prayer  has  become  my  atmosphere. " 


CHAPTER  XX IF 


Like  a  loiifj;  and  yet  a  strangely  short  dream  the 
years  had  passed  since  the  little  ^\x\,  Frances,  care- 
free and  merry,  played  on  the  Western  prairie 
farm,  wondering  in  her  thoughtful  moments  if  she 
would  ever  go  anywhere  or  see  anybody. 

Since  those  days,  she  had  seen  the  mountains 
and  rivers  and  cities  of  two  continents,  and  in  their 
home  surroundings  studied  the  peoples  of  every 
section  of  her  own  country  and  many  foreign 
lands. 

She  had  seen  Queen  Victoria,  Emperor  Napo- 
leon, Emperor  William,  the  Pope  of  Rome,  the 
Sultan  of  Turkey,  beside  other  foreign  potentates 
and  many  of  the  presidents  of  her  own  country. 
She  had  seen  Gladstone  and  Longfellow  and  Whit- 
tier  and  Whitman,  and  other  statesmen  and  poets 
and  authors,  who  had  been  her  personal  friends. 
She  had  stood  before  hundreds  of  thousands  of 
people  who  had  listened  spellbound  to  her  match- 
less eloquence. 

Since  the  day  she  began  her  mission  of  doing 
what  she  could  to  better  woman's  condition,  thus 
helping  humanity  at  large,  many  changes  had  taken 

262 


THE   REFORMER 


463 


place.  Schools  aiul  collcj;cs  were  now  everywhere 
OjX'ii  to  women,  as  were  also  the  trades  and  pro- 
fessions, so  tliat  women  were  no  lon<;er  forced  into 
fields  of  labor  unfitted  to  them,  but  nii^dit  choose 
for  their  life  calling  what  suited  them  best.  Xew 
laws  had  been  made  and  okl  laws  changed  in  many 
states  which  affected  woman's  condition  favorably, 
while  in  many  states  women  exercised  the  right  of 
franchise.  The  crusade  had  come  and  gone,  leav- 
ing in  its  place  as  a  "sober,  second  thought"  a 
world-wide  organization  of  women,  the  plan  of  which 
included  every  branch  of  reform  work. 

All  these  changes  had  come  a!)out  only  as  the 
result  of  years  of  tireless,  prayerful  labor,  and  chief 
among  the  laborers  had  been  Miss  Willard. 

After  the  death  of  her  mother.  Miss  Willard 's 
failing  strength  aroused  the  concern  of  her  friends, 
who  insisted  that  she  take  her  physician's  advice  and 
give  herself  a  protracted  rest. 

Her  rest,  however,  was  at  no  one  time  sufficient 
for  the  recovery  of  her  failing  strength,  for  the 
work  that  lay  so  near  her  heart  demanded  her  time 
and  attention,  which  she  gave  unsparingly  so  long 
as  she  was  able. 

But  the  times  came  oftcncr  when  her  mind  went 
back  to  the  sunny  fields  that  slic  and  Mary  hnd  once 
played  in;   to  the  softly  tlowing  blue  river  and  the 


264     ^N   UNCROfTNED   ^UEEN 

whispering  woods;  to  the  merry  song  of  the  black- 
bird, the  strange,  piping  song  of  the  prairie-chicken, 
and  the  sad,  sweet  song  of  the  mourning  dove  ir 
the  thicket  by  the  Big  Ravine;  and  perhaps  she 
imagined,  as  Mary  had,  that  if  she  could  get  back  to 
it  all,  she  would  feel  strong  and  well  again  as  she 
had  felt  in  the  years  that  had  long  gone  by. 

There  seemed  to  come  no  time,  however,  when 
this  journey  could  be  made  without  neglecting  im- 
portant work,  until  after  a  great  convention  in 
Buffalo,  in  the  fall  of  1897.  she  set  out  to  visit  the 
haunts  and  homes  of  her  childhood  days. 

Her  first  stop  was  made  at  Churchville,  New 
York,  the  village  of  her  birth.  Here,  with  some 
relatives,  she  stood  in  the  room  where  she  had 
come  a  welcome  little  stranger  years  before;  where 
the  grave  discussion  as  to  wliether  she  would  be 
called  Victoria  or  Frances  had  taken  place;  and 
where  a  little  curly-headed  boy  named  Oliver  had 
tip-toed  softly  to  a  cradle  side  many  times  a  day  to 
see  if  the  new  baby  were  yet  there. 

From  Churchville,  Miss  Willard  went  to  Ober- 
lin,  and  visited  the  house  that  had  been  Mary's 
birthplace.  She  looked  out  over  old  paths,  where 
she  had  walked  when  Mary  had  walked  with  her, 
dragging  her  sunbonnet.  and  across  the  fields  where 
her  own  little  feet  had  traveled  when  she  tried  to 


THE  REFORMER 


265 


run  away.  Si  itood  in  the  room  where  her  father 
had  taught  he:  pretty  speeches,  and  her  mother 
had  heard  her  prayers. 

After  visiting  several  other  places  Miss  Willard 
found  herself  once  more  at  Forest  Home. 

Again  she  stood  upon  the  porch  around  which 
the  crimson  rose  and  Virginia  creeper  had  once 
twined. 

But  there  were  no  roses  now. 

She  looked  out  upon  the  garden  spot  that  in  her 
memory  was  gay  with  tulips  and  with  pinks;  now 
it  was  brown  and  sadly  strange. 

She  looked  toward  the  trees  that  still  stood  by 
the  river,  but  the  only  music  that  came  from  their 
tall  tops  was  the  music  of  the  wind  as  it  went  sigh- 
ing and  sobbing  softly  through  the  leafless  branches. 
The  blackbirds  had  all  flown,  the  song  of  the 
mourning  dove  was  hushed. 

The  pasture  was  there,  but  no  blue-eyed  Mary 
came  to  wrap  her  soft  warm  fingers  round  her 
sister's  hand  and  go  romping  out  to  play. 

The  barn  wos  there,  but  no  Oliver  came  from 
the  open  door  to  greet  his  sister  with  a  merry 
shout. 

The  fields  were  there,  but  there  was  no  father 
to  call  Frances  to  take  a  walk  with  him. 

The  house  was  theic,  but  no  mother  came  down 


266     AN   UNCROWNED  ^UEEN 


the  well-known  steps  with  wide-extendecl  arms  to 
welcome  the  wanderer  home. 

Only  in  memory  could  she  hear  the  loved  voices 
calling  her  name;  only  through  the  mist  of  the  past 
could  she  see  the  scenes  of  her  childhood.  Only 
in  imagination  could  she  feel  the  pressure  of  hands 
that  had  clasped  hers  in  joy  and  sorrow  and  had 
long  since  turned  to  dust. 

She  alone  remained,  but  she  knew  that  while 
they  could  not  return  to  her,  she  might  go  to  them, 
and  the  thought  that  this  might  perhaps  be  soon 
was  in  her  mind  when  she  bade  her  friends  in 
Janesville  farewell.  "Good  by,  dear  friends  of 
my  loved  childhood  home,"  she  said.  "Good  by, 
perhaps  forever— and  if  forever,  may  we  meet  in 
our  home  in  heaven. ' ' 

On  her  way  back  to  New  York.  Miss  Willard 
visited  Chicago,  and  while  there  received  by  tele- 
graph the  following  invitation  from  the  manager  of 
the  Hotel  Empire.  "To  have  at  the  Hotel  Empire 
the  author  of  so  much  good,  will  more  than  recom- 
pense us.  There  will  be  no  charge  for  your  apart- 
ments. ' ' 

Accepting  this  invitation.  Miss  Willard  went 
to  the  Hotel  Empire  as  she  thought  for  a  few 
days. 

You  could  not  do  me  a  greater  favor, ' '  her 


THE  REFORMER 


267 


host  insisted,  at  the  end  of  her  first  week,  "than  to 
stay  a  year  if  you  care  to,  and  any  time  in  the 
future  if  you  are  in  the  city,  I  want  you  to  feel  that 
you,  and  whoever  is  with  you,  will  be  welcome  to 
the  best  rooms  at  my  disposal." 

For  his  courtesy  and  kindness  Miss  Willard  was 
deeply  grateful,  but  he  did  not  know  that  soon, 
very  soon,  his  honored  guest  was  going  to  leave 
the  confines  of  New  York  for  the  city  not  made 
with  hands. 

The  life  work  of  Frances  E.  Willard  had  reached 
its  closing  chapter. 

After  she  had  been  in  New  York  two  weeks, 
Miss  Willard' s  continued  fatigue  alarmed  her 
friends,  who  summoned  a  physician. 

But  her  condition  grew  no  better,  and  she  was 
soon  unable  to  leave  her  bed,  though  she  still 
directed  the  management  of  the  great  organization 
of  which  she  was  head,  keeping  up  her  correspond- 
ence as  long  as  her  failing  strength  allowed. 

Hanging  on  tiie  wall  so  that  she  could  see  it 
from  where  she  lay  was  a  favorite  picture  of  Christ 
that  Lady  Henr)'  Somerset  had  given  her,  and  this 
Miss  Willard  loved  to  look  at. 

Once  she  said,  after  a  careful  study  of  it,  "He 
can  do  ever\-thing  for  us, ' '  and  she  asked  that  these 
words  be  put  on  the  frame,    "Only  the  Golden 


:i 


268     j^N   UNCROPVNED   ^UEEN 

Rule  of  Christ  can  bring  the  Golden  Age  of  Man. " 
and  that  after  she  had  gone,  the  picture  be  returned 
to  the  dear  friend  who  had  given  it  to  her. 

During  her  illness  her  thoughts  were  much  of 
the  time  with  the  women  of  the  Woman's  Christian 
Temperance  Union,  and  she  inquired  if  they  knew 
how  sick  she  was,  and  was  told  that  they  did,  and 
were  sending  her  letters  and  telegrams  every  day, 
and  were  everywhere  praying  "Spare  her,  O  God, 
if  it  be  thv  will!" 

But  it  was  not  a  part  of  God's  plan  that  she 
should  remain  longer  in  the  little  world  in  which 
she  had  proven  herself  so  faithful  a  co-laborer  with 
him  in  his  work  of  blessing  humanity.  Perhaps 
he  had  need  of  her  in  the  larger  world  to  which  she 
was  soon  going. 

Once  in  the  night,  after  looking  a  long  time  at 
the  beautiful  face  of  Christ,  she  said: 

"  'I  am  Merlin,  and  I  am  dying 
But  I'll  follow  the  Gleam.' 

I'm  getting  tired;  how  can  I  follow  it  much  longer? 
.   .   .   .    He  giveth  his  beloved  sleep." 

Toward  morning  she  whispered  to  Miss  Gordon, 
saying:  "I  want  to  say  what  Mary  and  I  used  to 
say  to  each  other  away  back  in  the  old  days  on  the 
farm  when  we  were  going  to  sleep.  I  would  say 
to  Mary,  '  I  ask  your  forgiveness,  and  I  thank  you, ' 


THE   REFORMER 


269 


and  she  would  say,  '  I  freely  forgive  you,  and  wel- 
come. '  I  want  to  say  that  to  you,  and  to  every 
White  Ribboner,  and  to  every  one,"  and  then  her 
dear  friend  knew  that  she  was  nearing  the  border- 
line; that  very  soon  her  tender  voice  would  be 
heard  on  earth  no  more,  and  her  gentle  hands 
would  be  folded  to  rest  forever. 

While  her  friends  stood  around  her  bedside 
thinking  she  had  passed  so  far  away  she  did  not 
know  them  and  could  not  speak,  one  came  in  of 
whom  Miss  Willard  was  very  fond,  and  taking  her 
hand,  pressed  it  lovingly. 

As  she  did  so,  Miss  Willard  looked  up,  calling 
her  friend's  name,  and  saying:  "I've  crept  in 
with  mother,  and  it's  the  same  beautiful  world  and 
the  same  people,  remember  that — it's  Just  the 
same. 

After  this  her  head  sank  lower  on  her  pillow, 
and  those  beside  her  bed  bent  low  to  hear  her  gentle 
breathing,  knowing  that  very  socn  the  end  must 
come,  and  the  heavenly  beginning. 

Just  as  she  was  passing  away,  she  lifted  her 
little  white  hand  upward,  saying,  "  How  beautiful 
to  be  with  God!" 

This  was  her  last  and  most  sublime  oration. 

In  the  stillness  of  the  night,  when  at  last  every- 
thing in  heaven  had  been  made  ready  for  the  coro- 


270     AN    UNCROWNED   ^^EEN 


nation,  the  immortal  soul  of  Frances  E.  Wiliard 
passed  gently  from  its  earthly  body  to  the  glorious 
place  of  Everlasting  Life,  and  the  uncrowned  queen 
received  from  her  Father,  the  King  of  all  the  Uni- 
verse, her  crown  of  glory. 


^ 


PRINTED  BV  R.  R.  DONNFLLF.Y 
AND  SONS  COMPANY,  AT  THE 
LAKESIDE     FREii,    CHICAGO,    ILL. 


I 


